GIFT  or 
John  Cheney 


MAJOR  HERBERT  KATZ, 


-*'■■■  *»'■■. 


7jczc<.  <?*Au^    <^/cH- 


How  Salvator  Won 

AND 

OTHER  RECITATIONS 

BY 

ELLA   WHEELER   WILCOX 
N 

A    JTHOR    OF   "MAURINE,"    "  POEMS     OF    PASSION,"    "  POEMS     OF    PLEASURE     ' 

"  Mal  MouLfe,"  "  Adventures  of  Miss  Volney," 
"A  Double  Life,"  Etc. 


CHICAGO: 
W.  B.  CONKEY  COMPANY. 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 

BY 

ELLA  WHEELER  WILCOX. 


PREFACE. 


T  AM  constantly  urged  by  readers  and  impersonators 
to  furnish  them  with  verses  for  recitation.  In  re- 
sponse to  this  ever-increasing  demand  I  have  selected, 
for  this  volume,  the  poems  which  seem  suitable  for  such 
a  purpose. 

In  making  my  collection  I  have  been  obliged  to  use, 
not  those  which  are  among  my  best  efforts  in  a  literary 
or  artistic  sense,  but  those  which  contain  the  best 
dramatic  possibilities  for  professionals.  Several  of  the 
poems  are  among  my  earliest  efforts,  others  were  written 
expressly  for  this  book.  In  "Meg's  Curse,"  which  has 
never  before  been  in  print,  and  in  several  others,  I 
ignored  all  rules  of  art  for  the  purpose  of  giving  the 
public  reader  a  better  chance  to  exercise  his  elocution- 
ary powers. 

E.  W.  W. 


1*27934 


CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

About  May, 132 

After  the  Engagement,    ....  24 

Answered,          .         .         .         .         .         .         .  128 

As  You  Go  Through  Life,         .         .         .  105 

Baby  in  the  House,  A,            ....  80 

Babyland, 71 

Beautiful  Blue  Danube,  The,      .  .120 

Birth  of  the  Opal,  The,            .         .         .  122 

Breaking  the  Day  in  Two,            ...  95 

Coming  Man,  The,        .         .         .         .  *      .  143 

Dell  and  I,       ......         .  135 

Dick's  Family, 147 

Fable,  A, 48 

Falling  of  Thrones,  The,          ...  65 

False, 29 

Fishing, 73 


6  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Foolish  Elm,    The,  .     .  .82 

Gethsemane,                              .  I41 

Giddy  Girl,  The,                                 ...  133 

Girl's  Autumn  Reverie,  A,          .         -         .  139 

Gossips,  The, ,  13 

Grandpa's  Christmas,          ....  20 

•Her  Last  Letter, 67 

His  Youth,    .......  3^ 

How  Does  Love  Speak,           ....  103 

How  Salvator  Won,  .....  9 

Illogical,  .         .         .         .         .         .  58 

Kingdom  of  Love,  The,       ....  34 

Lady  and  the  Dame,  The,     ....  109 

Man's  Repentance,  A,  145 

Maniac,  The,     .......  99 

Married  Coquette,  A,         .         .         .         .  ill 

Meg's  Curse,     .        .        .        .        •    .     -        -44 

Memory's  River,            .....  106 

Messenger,  The, 55 


CONTENTS.  7 

PAGE 

New  Year  Resolve, 86 

"Now  I  Lay  Me," 54 

Old  Stage  Queen,  The,         .         •         •         •  75 

Peek-a-Boo, &l 

Phantom  Ball,  The, 32 

Pin,  A, .  92 

Platonic, 16 

Plea,  A, 115 

Princess's    Finger    Nail,   The,        ...  77 

Rape  of  the  Mist,  The,     ....  97 

Robin's  Mistake, 84 

Servian  Legend,  A, 60 

Sign-Board,  The, 130 

Solitude,       .         .         ,                 .         .         .  18 

Sounds  from  the  Base-Ball  Field,      .         .  124 

Suicide,  The, 51 

Summer  Girl,  A, 117 

Two  Glasses,  The, 90 

Two  Sinners, 42 


8  CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Under  the  Sheet\ 36 

Vanity  Fair,    ...                                  .  137 

Waltz-Quadrille,  A,.         .         .         .     "    .  126 

Wanted — A  Little  Girl,       ....  40 

Watcher,  The., 27 

Way  of  It,  The, 50 

What  is  Flirtation, 102 

What  We  Want, 8S 


HOW  SALVATOR  WON. 

HE  gate  was  thrown  open,  I  rode  out  alone, 
More  proud  than  a  monarch  who  sits  on  a 
throne. 
I  am  but  a  jockey,  yet  shout  upon  shout 
Went  up  from  the   people  who   watched  me 
ride  out ; 

And  the  cheers  that  rang  forth  from   that  warm- 
hearted crowd, 
Were  as  earnest  as  those  to  which  monarch  e'er 
bowed. 

My  heart  thrilled  with  pleasure  so  keen  it  was  pair. 
As  I  patted  my  Salvator's  soft  silken  mane  ; 
And  a  sweet  shiver  shot  from  his  hide  to  my  hand 
As  we  passed  by  the  multitude  down  to  the  stand. 

The  great  waves  of  cheering  came  billowing  back, 
As  the  hoofs  of  brave  Tenny  rang  swift  down  the 

track  ; 
And  he  stood    there   beside   us,   all   bone  and    all 

muscle, 
Our  noble  opponent,  well  trained  for  the  tussle 
That  waited  us  there  on  the  smooth,  shining  course. 
My  Salvator,  fair  to  the  lovers  of  horse, 


io  HO V/   SAL  VA  TOR     WON, 

As  a  beautiful  woman  is  fair  to  man's  sight — 
Pure  type  of  the  thoroughbred,  clean-limbed  and 

bright- 
Stood  taking  the  plaudits  as  only  his  due, 
And  nothing  at  all  unexpected  or  new. 

And  then,  there  before  us  the  bright  flag  is  spread, 
There's  a  roar  from  the  grand  stand,  and  Tenny's 

ahead  ; 
At  the  sound  of  the  voices  that  shouted  "ago! " 
He  sprang  like  an  arrow  shot  straight   from  the 

bow. 
I  tighten  the  reins  on  Prince  Charlie's  great  son — 
He  is  off  like  a  rocket,  the  race  is  begun. 
Half-way   down  the   furlong,  their   heads  are  to- 
gether, 
Scarce  room  'twixt  their  noses  to  wedge  in  a  feather; 
Past  grand  stand,  and  judges,  in  neck-to-neck  strife, 
Ah,  Salvator,  boy  !  'tis  the  race  of  your  life. 
I  press  my  knees  closer,  I  coax  him,  I  urge, 
I  feel  him  go  out  with  a  leap  and  a  surge  ; 
I  see  him  creep  on,  inch  by  inch,  stride  by  stride, 
While  backward,  still  backward,  falls  Tenny  beside. 
We  are  nearing  the  turn,  the  first  quarter  is  past — 
'Twixt  leader  and  chaser  the  daylight  is  cast. 
The  distance  elongates,  still  Tenny  sweeps  on, 
As  graceful  and  free-limbed  and  swift  as  a  fawn; 
His     awkwardness     vanished,     his     muscles     all 

strained — 
A  noble  opponent,  well  born  and  well  trained. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  n 

I  glanced  o'er  my  shoulder,  ha  !  Tenny,  the  cost 
Of  that  one  second's  flagging,  will  be — the  race  lost. 
One    second's    weak     yielding    of     courage    and 

strength, 
And  the  daylight  between  us  has  doubled  its  length. 

The  first  mile  is  covered,  the  race  is  mine — no  ! 
For  the  blue  blood  of  Tenny  responds  to  a  blow. 
He  shoots  through  the  air  like  a  ball  from  a  gun, 
And  the  two  lengths  between  us  are  shortened  to 

one. 
My  heart  is  contracted,  my  throat  feels  a  lump, 
For  Tenny's  long  neck  is  at  Salvator's  rump  ; 
And    now  with  new  courage,    grown    bolder   and 

bolder, 
I  see  him  once  more  running  shoulder  to  shoulder. 
With  knees,  hands  and  body  I  press  my  grand  steed  ; 
I  urge  him,  I  coax  him,  I  pray  him  to  heed! 
Oh,  Salvator!  Salvator!  list  to  my  calls, 
For  the   blow   of   my   whip   will   hurt   both  if  it 

falls. 
There's  a  roar  from  the  crowd  like  the  ocean  in 

storm, 
As  close  to  my  saddle  leaps  Tenny's  great  form, 
One  more  mighty  plunge,  and  with  knee,  limb  and 

hand, 
I  lift  my  horse  first  by  a  nose  past  the  stand. 
We  are  under  the  string  now — the  great  race  is 

done, 
And  Salvator,  Salvator,  Salvator  won! 


12  HOW  SALVATOR    WON, 

Cheer,  hoar-headed  patriarchs  ;  cheer  loud,  I  say  : 
'Tis  the  race  of  a  century  witnessed  to-day! 
Though  ye  live  twice  the  space  that's  allotted   to 

men 
Ye  never  will  see  such  a  grand  race  again. 
Let  the  shouts  of  the  populace  roar  like  the  surf 
For  Salvator,  Salvator,  king  of  the  turf! 
He  has  broken  the  record  of  thirteen  long  years; 
He  has  won  the  first  place'  in  a  vast  line  of  peers. 
'Twas  a  neck-to-neck  contest,  a  grand,  honest  race, 
And  even  his  enemies  grant  him  his  place. 
Down  into  the  dust  let  old  records  be  hurled, 
And  hang  out  2.05  in  the  gaze  of  the  world. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  13 


THE   GOSSIPS. 


nv   ROSE    in    my  garden,  the   sweetest   and 
fairest, 
Was  hanging  her  head  through  the  long 
golden  hours  ; 
J*    And  early  one  morning  I  saw  her  tears  falling, 
And    heard    a  low   gossiping    talk   in    the 
bowers. 
The  yellow  Nasturtium,  a  spinster  all  faded, 

Was  telling  a  Lily  what  ailed  the  poor  Rose  : 
"That  wild  roving  Bee  who  was  hanging  about  her, 
Has  jilted  her  squarely,  as  everyone  knows. 

"  I  knew  when  he  came,  with  his  singing  and  sigh- 
ing, 
His  airs  and  his  speeches  so  fine  and  so  sweet, 
Just  how  it  would  end  ;  but  no  one  would  believe  me, 

For  all  were  quite  ready  to  fall  at  his  feet." 
"  Indeed,  you  are  wrong,"said  the!  ily-belle  proudly, 

"  I  cared  nothing  for  him,  he  called  on  me  once, 
i'  nd  would  have  come  often,  no  doubt,  if  I'd  asked 
him, 
"Jut,  though  he  was  handsome,  I  thought  him  a 
dunce." 


i4  HOW    S ALVA  TOR     WON, 

"  Now,  now,  that's  not  true,"  cried  the  tall  Oleander. 
"  He   has   traveled   and  seen   every  flower  that 
grows; 
And  one  who  has  supped  in  the  garden  of  princes, 
We  all  might  have  known  would  not  wed  with 
the  Rose." 
"But   wasn't   she    proud    when    he   showed    her 
attention  ? 
And  she  let  him  caress  her,"  said  sly  Mignonette; 
"And  I  used  to  see  it  and  blush  for  her  folly. 
The  silly  thing  thinks  he  will  come  to  her  yet." 

"  I   thought   he   was   splendid,"   said    pretty   pert 
Larkspur, 
"So  dark,  and  so  grand  with  that  gay  cloak  of 
gold; 
But  he  tried  once  to  kiss  me,  the  impudent  fellow  ! 

And  I  got  offended  ;  I  thought  him  too  bold." 
"  Oh,  fie  ! "  laughed  the  Almond,  "  that  does  for  a 
story. 
Though  I  hang  down  my  head,  yet  I  see  all  that 
goes; 
And  I  saw  you  reach  out  trying  hard  to  detain  him, 
But  he  just  tapped  your  cheek  and  flew  by  to  the 
Rose. 

"  He  cared  nothing  for  her,  he  only  was  flirting 
To  while  away  time,  as  I  very  well  knew  ; 

So  I  turned  a  cold  shoulder  on  all  his  advances, 
Because  I  was  certain  his  heart  was  untrue." 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  15 

"  The  Rose  is  served  right  for  her  folly  in  trusting 

An     oily  -  tongued      stranger,"     quoth      proud 

Columbine. 

"  I  knew  what  he  was,  and   thought  once  I  would 

warn  her, 

But  of  course  the  affair  was  no  business  of  mine." 

"  Oh,    well,"    cried    the     Peony,     shrugging    her 
shoulders, 
"I  saw  all  along  that  the  Bee  was  a  flirt ; 
But  the  Rose   has  been  always  so  praised  and  so 
petted, 
I  thought  a  good  lesson  would  do  her  no  hurt." 
Just   then   came   the   sound   of   a   love-song  sung 
sweetly, 
I  saw  my  proud  Rose  lifting  up  her  bowed  head; 
And    the   talk   of    the   gossips   was   hushed    in   a 
moment, 
And  the  flowers  all  listened  to  hear  what  was  said. 

And  the  dark,  handsome  Bee,  with  his  cloak  o'er  his 
shoulder, 
Came  swift  through  the  sunlight  and  -kissed  the 
sad  Rose, 
And  whispered  :  "My  darling,  I've  roved  the  world 
over, 
And  you  are  the  loveliest  flower  that  grows." 


j6  how  salvator   won, 


PLATONIC. 

KNEW  it  the  first  of  the  summer, 
I     I  knew  it  the  same  at  the  end, 
That  you  and  your  love  were  plighted 
But  couldn't  you  be  my  friend  ? 
Couldn't  we  sit  in  the  twilight, 

Couldn't  we  walk  on  the  shore 
With  only  a  pleasant  friendship 
To  bind  us,  and  nothing  more  ? 

There  was  not  a  word  of  folly 

Spoken  between  us  two, 
Though  we  lingered  oft  in  the  garden 

Till  the  roses  were  wet  with  dew. 
We  touched  on  a  thousand  subjects — 

The  moon  and  the  worlds  above, — 
And  our  talk  was  tinctured  with  science, 

And  everything  else,  save  love. 

A  wholly  Platonic  friendship 

You  said  I  had  proven  to  you 
Could  bind  a  man  and  a  woman 

The  whole  long  season  through, 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS,  17 

With  never  a  thought  of  flirting, 
Though  both  were  in  their  youth. 

What  would  you  have  said,  my  lady, 
If  you  had  known  the  truth  ! 

What  would  you  have  done,  I  wonder, 

Had  I  gone  on  my  knees  to  you 
And  told  you  my  passionate  story, 

There  in  the  dusk  and  the  dew. 
My  burning,  burdensome  story, 

Hidden  and  hushed  so  long — 
My  story  of  hopeless  loving — 

Say,  would  you  have  thought  it  wrong  ? 

But  I  fought  with  my  heart  and  conquered, 

I  hid  my  wound  from  sight ; 
You  were  going  away  in  the  morning, 

And  I  said  a  calm  good-night. 
But  now  when  I  sit  in  the  twilight, 

Or  when  I  walk  by  the  sea 
That  friendship,  quite  Platonic, 

Comes  surging  over  me. 
And  a  passionate  longing  fills  me 

For  the  roses,  the  dusk,  the  dew  ; 
For  the  beautiful  summer  vanished, 

For  the  moonlight  walks — and  you. 


<5-^iQ>zS5iZ&z*S> 


1 8  HOW    SAL  V A  TOR    WON, 


SOLITUDE. 


|  AUGH,  and  the  world  laughs  with  you  ; 
Weep,  and  you  weep  alone  ; 
For  the  sad  old  earth 
Must  borrow  its  mirth, 
It  has  trouble  enough  of  its  own. 

Sing,  and  the  hills  will  answer  ; 
Sigh,  it  is  lost  on  the  air; 

The  echoes  bound 

To  a  joyful  sound, 
But  shrink  from  voicing  care. 

Rejoice,  and  men  will  seek  you  ; 
Grieve,  and  they  turn  and  go  ; 

They  want  full  measure 

Of  all  your  pleasure, 
But  they  do  not  want  your  woe. 

Be  glad,  and  your  friends  are  many ; 
Be  sad,  and  you  lose  them  all ; 

There  are  none  to  decline 

Your  nectared  wine, 
But  alone  you  must  drink  life's  gall. 


AND    O  THER    RECITA  TIONS.  1 9 

Feast,  and  your  halls  are  crowded  ; 
Fast,  and  the  world  goes  by ; 

Succeed  and  give, 

And  it  helps  you  live, 
But  it  cannot  help  you  die. 

There  is  room  in  the  halls  of  pleasure 
For  a  long  and  lordly  train  ; 

But  one  by  one 

We  must  all  file  on 
Through  the  narrow  aisles  of  pain. 


20  HO  IV    SALVATOR    WON, 


GRANDPA'S    CHRISTMAS. 

N  his  great  cushioned  chair  by  the  fender 

An  old  man  sits  dreaming  to-night, 
His  withered  hands,  licked  by  the  tender. 
Warm  rays  of  the  red  anthracite, 
Are  folded  before  him,  all  listless  ; 

His  dim  eyes  are  fixed  on  the  blaze, 
While  over  him  sweeps  the  resistless 
Flood-tide  of  old  days. 

He  hears  not  the  mirth  in  the  hallway, 

He  hears  not  the  sounds  of  good  cheer, 
That  through  the  old  homestead  ring  alway 

In  the  glad  Christmas-time  of  the  year. 
He  heeds  not  the  chime  of  sweet  voices 

As  the  last  gifts  are  hung  on  the  tree. 
In  a  long-vanished  day  he  rejoices — 

In  his  lost  Used  to  be. 

He  has  gone  back  across  dead  Decembers 
To  his  childhood's  fair  land  of  delight ; 

\nd  his  mother's  sweet  smile  he  remembers, 
As  he  hangs  up  his  stocking  at  night. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS. 

He  remembers  the  dream-haunted  slumber 
All  broken  and  restless  because 

Of  the  visions  that  came  without  number 
Of  dear  Santa  Claus. 

Again,  in  his  manhood's  beginning, 

He  sees  himself  thrown  on  the  world, 
And  into  the  vortex  of  sinning 

By  Pleasure's  strong  arms  he  is  hurled. 
He  hears  the  sweet    Christmas  bells  ringing, 

"Repent  ye,  repent  ye,  and  pray.;" 
But  he  joins  with  his  comrades  in  singing 

A  bacchanal  lay. 

Again  he  stands  under  the  holly 

With  a  blushing  face  lifted  to  his  ; 
For  love  has  been  stronger  than  folly, 

And  has  turned  him  from  vice  unto  bliss  ; 
And  the  whole  world  is  lit  with  new  glory 

As  the  sweet  vows  are  uttered  again, 
While  the  Christmas  bells  tell  the  old  story 

Of  peace  unto  men. 

Again,  with  his  little  brood  'round  him, 

He  sits  by  the  fair  mother-wife  ; 
He  knows  that  the  angels  have  crowned  him 

With  the  truest,  best  riches  of  life  : 
And  the  hearts  of  the  children,  untroubled, 

Are  filled  with  the  gay  Christmas-tide  ; 
And  the  gifts  for  sweet  Maudie  are  doubled, 

Tis  her  birthday,  beside. 


22  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

Again, — ah,  dear  Jesus,  have  pity — 

He  finds  in  the  chill,  waning  day, 
That  one  has  come  home  from  the  city — - 

Frail  Maudie,  whom  love  led  astray. 
She  lies  with  her  babe  on  her  bosom — 

Half-hid  by  the  snow's  fleecy  spread  ; 
A  bud  and  a  poor  trampled  blossom — 

And  both  are  quite  dead. 

So  fair  and  so  fragile  !   just  twenty — 

How  mocking  the  bells  sound  to-night! 
She  starved  in  this  great  land  of  plenty, 

When  she  tried  to  grope  back  to  the  light. 
Christ,  are  Thy  disciples  inhuman, 

Or  only  for  men  hast  Thou  died  ? 
No  mercy  is  shown  to  a  woman 

Who  once  steps  aside. 

Again  he  leans  over  the  shrouded 

Still  form  of  the  mother  and  wife  ; 
Very  lonely  the  way  seems,  and  clouded, 

As  he  looks  down  the  vista  of  life. 
With  the  sweet  Christmas  chimes  there  is  blended 

The  knell  for  a  life  that  is  done, 
And  he  knows  that  his  joys  are  all  ended 

And  his  waiting  begun. 

So  long  have  the  years  been,  so  lonely, 

As  he  counts  them  by  Christmases  gone. 

"I  am  homesick,"  he  murmurs;  "if  only 
The  Angel  would  lead  the  way  on. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  23 

I  am  cold,  in  this  chill  winter  weather  ; 

Why,  Maudie,  dear,  where  have  you  been  ? 
And  you,  too,  sweet  wife — and  together — 

O  Christ,  let  me  in." 

The  children  ran  in  from  the  hallway, 

"Were  you  calling  us,  grandpa?"  they  said. 
Then  shrank,  with  that  fear  that  comes  alway 

When  young  eyes  look  their  first  on  the  dead. 
The  freedom  so  longed  for  is  given. 

The  children  speak  low  and  draw  near : 
"Dear  grandpa  keeps  Christmas  in  Heaven 

With  grandma,  this  year." 


24  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


AFTER  THE   ENGAGEMENT. 

ELL,  Mabel,  'tis  over  and  ended — 

The  ball  I  wrote  was  to  be  ; 
And  oh  !  it  was  perfectly  splendid—- 
If  you  could  have  been  here  to  see. 
I've  a  thousand  things  to  write  you 

That  I  know  you  are  wanting  to  hear, 
And  one,  that  is  sure  to  delight  you — 
I  am  wearing  Joe's  diamond,  my  dear ! 

Yes,  mamma  is  quite  ecstatic 

That  I  am  engaged  to  Joe  ; 
She  thinks  I  am  rather  erratic, 

And  feared  that  I  might  say  "  no." 
But,  Mabel,  Fm  twenty-seven 

(Though  nobody  dreams  it,  dear), 
And  a  fortune  like  Joe's  isn't  given 
To  lay  at  one's  feet  each  year. 

You  know  my  old  fancy  for  Harry — 
Or,  at  least,  I  am  certain  you  guessed 

That  it  took  all  my  sense  not  to  marry 
And  go  with  that  fellow  out  west. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS. 

But  that  was  my  very  first  season — 
And  Harry  was  poor  as  could  be, 

And  mamma's  good  practical  reason 
Took  all  the  romance  out  of  me. 

She  whisked  me  off  over  the  ocean, 

And  had  me  presented  at  court, 
And  got  me  all  out  of  the  notion 

That  ranch  life  out  west  was  my  forte. 
Of  course  I  have  never  repented — 

I'm  not  such  a  goose  of  a  thing  ; 
But  after  I  had  consented 

To  Joe — and  he  gave  me  the  ring — 

I  felt  such  a  queer  sensation. 

I  seemed  to  go  into  a  trance, 
Away  from  the  music's  pulsation, 

Away  from  the  lights  and  the  dance. 
And  the  wind  o'er  the  wild  prairie 

Seemed  blowing  strong  and  free, 
And  it  seemed  not  Joe,  but  Harry 

Who  was  standing  there  close  to  me. 

And  the  funniest  feverish  feeling 

Went  up  from  my  feet  to  my  head, 
With  little  chills  after  it  stealing — 

And  my  hands  got  as  numb  as  the  dead. 
A  moment,  and  then  it  was  over  : 

The  diamond  blazed  up  in  my  eyes, 
And  I  saw  in  the  face  of  my  lover 

A  questioning,  strange  surprise. 


26  HOW    SALVATOR    WOJV, 

Maybe  'twas  the  scent  of  the  flowers, 

That  heavy  with  fragrance  bloomed  near, 
But  I  didn't  feel  natural  for  hours  ; 

It  was  odd  now,  wasn't  it,  dear  ? 
Write  soon  to  your  fortunate  Clara 

Who  has  carried  the  prize  away, 
And  say  you'll  come  on  when  I  marry ; 

I  think  it  will  happen  in  May. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  2] 


THE   WATCHER. 

THINK  I  hear  the  sound  of  horses'  feet 
Beating  upon  the  graveled  avenue. 
Go  to  the  window  that  looks  on  the 
street, 
He  would  not  let  me  die  alone,  I  knew." 
Back  to  the  couch  the  patient  watcher  passed, 
And  said  :  "  It  is  the  wailing  of  the  blast." 

She  turned  upon  her  couch  and,  seeming,  slept, 
The  long,  dark  lashes  shadowing  her  cheek  ; 

And  on  and  on  the  weary  moments  crept, 

When  suddenly  the  watcher  heard  her  speak  : 

11 1  think  I  hear  the  sound  of  horses'  hoofs — " 

And  answered,  "  'Tis  the  rain  upon  the  roofs." 

Unbroken  silence,  quiet,  deep,  profound. 

The  restless  sleeper  turns  :     "  How  dark,  how 
late  ! 
What  is  it  that  I  hear — a  trampling  sound  ? 

I  think  there  is  a  horseman  at  the  gate." 
The  watcher  turns  away  her  eyes  tear-blind  : 
"It  is  the  shutter  beating  in  the  wind." 


28  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 

The  dread  hours  passed  ;   the  patient  clock  ticked 
on  ; 
The  weary  watcher  moved  not  from  her  place. 
The  gray  dim  shadows  of  the  early  dawn 

Caught  sudden  glory  from  the  sleeper's  face. 
"  He  comes  !  my  love  !  I  knew  he  would  !"  she 

cried  ; 
And  smiling  sweetly  in  her  slumbers,  died. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  29 


FALSE. 


If  fSBf  ALSE  !  Good  God,  I  am  dreaming ! 
S'^IBiIl  No,  no>  **  never  can  be 


§*^r     You  who  are  so  true  in  seeming, 

You,  false  to  your  vows  and  me  ? 
My  wife  and  my  fair  boy's  mother 

The  star  of  my  life — my  queen — 
To  yield  herself  to  another 
Like  some  light  Magdalene  ! 

Proofs  !  what  are  proofs — I  defy  them  ! 

They  never  can  shake  my  trust ; 
If  you  look  in  my  face  and  deny  them 

I  will  trample  them  into  the  dust. 
For  whenever  I  read  of  the  glory 

Of  the  realms  of  Paradise, 
I  sought  for  the  truth  of  the  story 

And  found  it  in  your  sweet  eyes. 

Why,  you  are  the  shy  young  creature 

I  wooed  in  her  maiden  grace  ; 
There  was  purity  in  each  feature, 

And  my  heaven  I  found  in  your  face. 
And,  "not  only  married  but  mated," 

I  would  say  in  my  pride  and  joy  ; 
And  our  hopes  were  all  consummated 

When  the  angels  gave  us  our  boy. 


3° 


HOW  SALVATOR    WON, 


Now  you  could  not  blot  that  beginning 

So  beautiful,  pure  and  true, 
With  a  record  of  wicked  sinning 

As  a  common  woman  might  do. 
Look  up  in  your  old  frank  fashion, 

With  your  smile  so  free  from  art : 
And  say  that  no  guilty  passion 

Has  ever  crept  into  your  heart. 

How  pallid  you  are,  and  you  tremble ! 

You  are  hiding  your  face  from  view  ! 
"  Tho'  a  sinner,  you  cannot  dissemble  " — 

My  God  !  then  the  tale  is  true  ? 
True  and  the  sun  above  us 

Shines  on  in  the  summer  skies? 
And  men  say  the  angels  love  us, 

And  that  God  is  good  and  wise. 

Yet  he  lets  a  wanton  thing  like  you 

Ruin  my  home  and  my  name ! 
Get  out  of  my  sight  ere  I  strike  you 

Dead  in  your  shameless  shame  ! 
No,  no,  I  was  wild,  I  was  brutal ; 

I  would  not  take  your  life, 
For  the  efforts  of  death  would  be  futile 

To  wipe  out  the  sin  of  a  wife. 
Wife — why,  that  word  has  seemed  sainted, 

I  uttered  it  like  a  prayer. 
And  now  to  think  it  is  tainted — 

Christ !  how  much  we  can  bear  i 


AND    O  THER    RECITA  TIONS.  3 1 

"  Slay  you  !"  my  boy's  stained  mother — 

Nay,  that  would  not  punish,  or  save ; 
A  soul  that  has  outraged  another 

Finds  no  sudden  peace  in  the  grave. 
I  will  leave  you  here  10  retne?nber 

The  Eden  that  was  your  own, 
While  on  toward  my  life's  December 

I  walk  in  the  dark  alone. 


•«i| 


32  HOW    SALVATOR     WON, 


THE  PHANTOM  BALL. 

[$OU  remember  the  hall  on  the  corner? 
To-night  as  I  walked  down  street 
iHpfP?      I  heard  the  sound  of  music, 
And  the  rhythmic  beat  and  beat, 
In  time  to  the  pulsing  measure 
Of  lightly  tripping  feet. 

And  I  turned  and  entered  the  doorway — • 
It  was  years  since  I  had  been  there — 

Years,  and  life  seemed  altered  : 
Pleasure  had  changed  to  care. 

But  again  I  was  hearing  the  music 
And  watching  the  dancers  fair. 

And  then,  as  I  stood  and  listened, 

The  music  lost  its  glee  ; 
And  instead  of  the  merry  waltzers 

There  were  ghosts  of  the  Used-to-be— 
Ghosts  of  the  pleasure-seekers 

Who  once  had  danced  with  me. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  33 

Oh,  'twas  a  ghastly  picture ! 

Oh,  'twas  a  gruesome  crowd  ! 
Each  bearing  a  skull  on  his  shoulder, 

Each  trailing  a  long  white  shroud, 
As  they  whirled  in  the  dance  together, 

And  the  music  shrieked  aloud. 

As  they  danced,  their  dry  bones  rattled 

Like  shutters  in  a  blast ; 
And  they  stared  from  eyeless  sockets 

On  me  as  they  circled  past ; 
And  the  music  that  kept  them  whirling 

Was  a  funeral  dirge  played  fast. 

Some  of  them  wore  their  face-cloths, 

Others  were  rotted  away. 
Some  had  mould  on  their  garments, 

And  some  seemed  dead  but  a  day. 
Corpses  all,  but  I  knew  them 

As  friends,  once  blithe  and  gay. 

Beauty  and  strength  and  manhood — 

And  this  was  the  end  of  it  all  : 
Nothing  but  phantoms  whirling 

In  a  ghastly  skeleton  ball. 
But  the  music  ceased — and  they  vanished, 

And  I  came  away  from  the  hall. 


34  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


THE  KINGDOM  OF  LOVE. 

N  the  dawn  of  the  day  when  the  sea  and 
the  earth 
Reflected  the  sunrise  above, 
I  set  forth  with  a  heart  full  of  courage  and 
mirth 
To  seek  for  the  Kingdom  of  Love. 
I  asked  of  a  Poet  I  met  on  the  way 

Which  cross-road  would  lead  me  aright. 
And  he  said  :     "  Follow  me,  and  ere  long  you  shall 
see 
Its  glittering  turrets  of  light." 

Aftd  soon  in  the  distance  a  city  shone  fair. 

"Look  yonder,"  he  said  ;  "  how  it  gleams  !  " 
But  alas  !  for  the  hopes  that  were  doomed  to  de- 
>    spair, 
Xfc  was  only  the  "  Kingdom  of  Dreams." 
Then  the  next  man  I  asked  was  a  gay  Cavalier, 

And  he  said  :     "  Follow  me,  follow  me  ;  " 
£jld  with   laughter  and  song  we  went   speeding 
along 
3r*£he  shores  of  Life's  beautiful  sea. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.         35 

Then  we  came  to  a  valley  more  tropical  far 

Than  the  wonderful  vale  of  Cashmere, 
And  I  saw  from  a  bower  a  face  like  a  flower 

Smile  out  on  the  gay  Cavalier. 
And  he  said  :    "We  have  come  to  humanity's  goal: 

Here  love  and  delight  are  intense." 
But  alas  and  alas  !  for  the  hopes  of  my  soul — 

It  was  only  the  "  Kingdom  of  Sense." 

As  I  journeyed  more  slowly  I  met  on  the  road 

A  coach  with  retainers  behind. 
And  they  said  :    "  Follow  me,  for  our  Lady's  abode 

Belongs  in  that  realm,  you  will  find." 
'Twas  a  grand  dame  of  fashion,  a  newly-made  bride, 

I  followed,  encouraged  and  bold  ; 
But  my  hopes  died  away  like  the  last  gleams  of 
day, 

For  we  came  to  the  "  Kingdom  of  Gold." 

At  the  door  of  a  cottage  I  asked  a  fair  maid. 

"  I  have  heard  of  that  realm,"  she  replied  ; 
"  But  my  feet  never  roam  from   the  '  Kingdom  of 
Home,* 

So  I  know  not  the  way,"  and  she  sighed. 
I  looked  on  the  cottage  ;  how  restful  it  seemed  ! 

And  the  maid  was  as  fair  as  a  dove. 
Great  light  glorified  my  soul  as  I  cried  : 

"Whv  home  is  the  '  Kingdom  of  Love  ! '  " 


36  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


UNDER  THE  SHEET. 

HAT  a  terrible  night !     Does  the  Night, 
I  wonder — 
The  Night,  with  her  black  veil  down  to 
jP  her  feet 

Like   an   ordained   nun,    know   what    lies 

under 
That  awful,  motionless,  snow-white  sheet  ? 
The  winds  seem  crazed,  and,  wildly  howling, 

Over  the  sad  earth  blindly  go. 
Do  they  and  the  dark  clouds  over  them  scowling, 
Do  they  dream  or  know  ? 

Why,  here  in  the  room,  not  a  week  or  over — 

Tho'  it  must  be  a  week,  not  more  than  one — 
(I  cannot  reckon  of  late  or  discover 

When  one  day  is  ended  or  one  begun), 
But  here  in  this  room  we  were  laughing  lightly, 

And  glad  was  the  measure  our  two  hearts  beat; 
And  the  royal  face  that  was  smiling  so  brightly 

Lies  under  that  sheet. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  37 

I  know  not  why — it  is  strange  and  fearful, 

But  I  am  afraid  of  her,  lying  there ; 
She  who  was  always  so  gay  and  cheerful, 

Lying  so  still  with  that  stony  stare  : 
She  who  was  so  like  some  grand  sultana, 

Fond  of  color  and  glow  and  heat, 
To  lie  there  clothed  in  that  awful  manner 

In  a  stark  white  sheet. 

She  who  was  made  out  of  summer  blisses, 

Tropical,  beautiful,  gracious,  fair, 
To  lie  and  stare  at  my  fondest  kisses — 

God  !  no  wonder  it  whitens  my  hair. 
Shriek,  oh,  wind  !  for  the  world  is  lonely; 

Trail  cloud-veil  to  the  nun  Night's  feet! 
For  all  that  I  prized  in  life  is  only 

A  shape  and  a  sheet. 


38  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


HIS    YOUTH. 

YING  ?   I  am  not  dying.    Are  you  mad  ? 
You  think  I  need  to  ask  for  heavenly 
grace  ? 
7*  think  you  are  a  fiend,  who  would  be  glad 
To  see  me  struggle  in  death's  cold  em- 
brace. 


"But,  man,  you  lie  !  for  I  am  strong — in  truth 
Stronger  than  I  have  been  in  years  ;  and  soon 

I  shall  feel  young  again  as  in  my  youth, 

My   glorious   youth — life's   one   great   priceless 
boon. 

"  O  youth,  youth,  youth  !  O  God,  that  golden  time, 
When  proud  and  glad  I  laughed  the  hours  away. 

Why,  there's  no  sacrifice  (perhaps  no  crime) 
I'd  pause  at,  could  it  make  me  young  to-day. 

"But  I'm  not  old!     I  grew — just  ill,  somehow  ; 

Grew  stiff  of  limb,  and  weak,  and  dim  of  sight. 
It  was  but  sickness.     I  am  better  now, 

Oh,  vastly  better,  ever  since  last  night. 

"And  I  could  weep  warm  floods  of  happy  tears 
To  think  my  strength  is  coming  back  at  last, 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  39 

For  I  have  dreamed  of  such  an  hour  for  years, 
As  I  lay  thinking  of  my  glorious  past. 

"  You  shake  your  head  ?     Why,   man,  if  you  were 
sane 

I'd  strike  you  to  my  feet,  I  would,  in  truth. 
How  dare  you  tell  me  that  my  hopes  are  vain  ? 

How  dare  you  say  I  have  outlived  my  youth  ? 

"  '  In  heaven  I  may  regain  it  ? '     Oh,  be  still  ! 

I  want  no  heaven  but  what  my  glad  youth  gave. 
Its  long,  bright  hours,  its  rapture  and  its  thrill — 

0  youth,  youth,  youth  !  it  is  my  youth  I  crave. 

"  There  is  no  heaven  !     There's  nothing  but  a  deep 
And  yawning  grave  from  which  I  shrink  in  fear. 

I  am  not  sure  of  even  rest  or  sleep  ; 

Perhaps  we  lie  and  think,  as  I  have  here. 

"  Think,  think,  think,  think,  as  we  lie  there  and  rot, 

And  hear  the  young  above  us  laugh  in  glee. 
How  dare  you  say  I'm  dying  !     I  am  not. 

1  would  curse  God  if  such  a  thing  could  be. 

"  Why,  see  me  stand  !  why,  hear  this  strong,  full 
breath — 
Dare  you  repeat  that  silly,  base  untruth  ?" 
A  cry — a  fall — the  silence  known  as  death 

Hushed  his  wild  words.     Well,  has  he  found  his 
youth  ? 


4o  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


WANTED— A  LITTLE  GIRL. 

HERE  have  they  gone  to — the  little  girls 
With  natural  manners  and  natural  curls  ; 
Who  love  their  dollies  and  like  their  toys, 
And  talk  of  something  besides  the  boys? 

Little  old  women  in  plenty  I  find, 
Mature  in  manners  and  old  of  mind  ; 
Little  old  flirts  who  talk  of  their  "  beaux," 
And  vie  with  each  other  in  stylish  clothes. 

Little  old  belles  who,  at  nine  and  ten, 
Are  sick  of  pleasure  and  tired  of  men  ; 
Weary  of  travel,  of  balls,  of  fun, 
And  find  no  new  thing  under  the  sun. 

Once,  in  the  beautiful  long  ago, 
Some  dear  little  children  I  used  to  know ; 
Girls  who  were  merry  as  lambs  at  play, 
And  laughed  and  rollicked  the  livelong  day. 


AND    OTHER   RECITATIONS.  41 

They   thought  not  at  all  of  the  "style"  of  their 

clothes, 
They  never  imagined  that  boys  were  "  beaux  " — 
"  Other  girls'  brothers  "  and  "  mates  "  were  they  , 
Splendid  fellows  to  help  them  play. 

Where  have  tney  gone  to  ?     If  you  see 

One  of  them  anywhere  send  her  to  me. 

I  would  give  a  medal  of  purest  gold 

To  one  of  those  dear  little  girls  v>f  old, 

With  an  innocent  heart  and  an  open  smile, 

Who  knows  not  the  meaning  Oi  <:  flirt  "  or  "  style." 


42  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON; 

TWO    SINNERS. 

""  HERE  was  a  man,  it  was  said  one  time, 
Who  went  astray  in  his  youthful  prime. 
Can  the  brain  keep  cool  and  the  heart 
keep  quiet 
When   the   blood  is   a   river  that's  running 
not? 

And  boys  will  be  boys,  the  old  folks  say, 
And  a  man  is  the  better  who's  had  his  day. 

The  sinner  reformed  ;  and  the  preacher  told 
Of  the  prodigal  son  who  came  back  to  the  fold. 
And  Christian  people  threw  open  the  door, 
With  a  warmer  welcome  than  ever  before. 
Wealth  and  honor  were  his  to  command, 
And  a  spotless  woman  gave  him  her  hand. 

And  the  world  strewed  their  pathway  with  blossoms 

abloom, 
Crying,  "  God  bless  layde,  and  God  bless  groom.'" 

There  was  a  maiden  who  went  astray, 
In  the  golden  dawn  of  her  life's  young  day. 
She  had  more  passion  and  heart  than  head, 
And  she  followed  blindly  where  fond  Love  led. 
And  Love  unchecked  is  a  dangerous  guide 
To  wander  at  will  by  a  fair  girl's  side. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  43 

The  woman  repented  and  turned  from  sin, 

But  no  door  opened  to  let  her  in. 

The  preacher  prayed  that  she  might  be  forgiven, 

But  told  her  to  look  for  mercy — in  heaven 

For  this  is  the  law  of  the  earth,  we  know  : 

That  the  woman  is  stoned,  while  the  man  may  go. 

A  brave  man  wedded  her  after  all, 

But  the  world  said,  frowning,  "We  shall  not  call." 


44  IfOtT   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


MEG'S   CURSE. 

HE  sun  rode  high  in  a  cloudless  sky 
Of  a  perfect  summer  morn. 
She  stood  and  gazed  out  into  the  street, 
And  wondered  why  she  was  born. 
On  the  topmost  branch  of  a  maple-tree 
That  close  by  the  window  grew, 
A  robin  called  to  his  mate  enthralled: 
"  I  love  but  you,  but  you,  but  you." 

A  soft  look  came  in  her  hardened  face — 

She  had  not  wept  for  years; 
But  the  robin's  trill,  as  some  sounds  will, 

Jarred  open  the  door  of  tears. 
She  thought  of  the  old  home  far  away; 

She  heard  the  whir-r-r  of  the  mill; 
She  heard  the  turtle's  wild,  sweet  call, 

And  the  wail  of  the  whip-poor-will,  whip-poor- 
will,  whip-poor-will. 

She  saw  again  that  dusty  road 

Whence  he  came  riding  down; 
She  smelled  once  more  the  flower  she  wore 

In  the  breast  of  her  simple  gown. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  45 

Out  on  the  new-mown  meadow  she  heard 

Two  blue-jays  quarrel  and  fret, 
And  the  warning  cry  of  a  Phoebe  bird: 

"  More  wet,  more  wet,  more  wet." 


With  a  blithe  "  hello  "  to  the  men  below 

Who  were  spreading  the  new-mown  hay, 
The  rider  drew  rein  at  her  window-pane — 

How  it  all  came  back  to-day  ! 
How  young  she  was,  and  how  fair  she  was; 

What  innocence  crowned  her  brow  ! 
The  future  seemed  fair,  for  Love  was  there- 

And  now — and  now — and  now. 


In  a  dingy  glass  on  the  wall  near  by 

She  gazed  on  her  faded  face. 
"Well,  Meg,  I  declare,  what  a  beauty  you  are .'" 

She  sneered,  "  What  an  angel  of  grace  ! 
Ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha,  ha  ! 

What  a  thing  of  beauty  and  grace  ! " 
She  reached  out  her  arms  with  a  moaning  sob: 

"  Oh,  if  I  could  go  back  !  " 
Then,  swift  and  strange,  came  a  sudden  change; 

Her  brow  grew  hard  and  black. 

u  A  curse  on  the  day  and  a  curse  on  that  man, 

And  on  all  who  are  his,"  she  cried. 
"  May  he  starve  and  be  cold,  may  he  live  to  be  old 

When  all  who  loved  him  have  died." 


46  HOW    $  ALVA  TOR    lVOiV} 

Her  wild  voice  frightened  the  robin  away 
From  the  branch  by  the  window-sill ; 

And  little  he  knew  as  away  he  flew, 
Of  the  memories  stirred  by  his  trill. 

He  called  to  his  mate  on  the  grass  below, 

"  Follow  me,"  as  he  soared  on  high; 
And  as  mates  have  done  since  the  world  begun 

She  followed,  and  asked  not  why. 
The  dingy  room  seemed  curtained  with  gloom; 

Meg  shivered  with  nameless  dread. 
The  ghost  of  her  youth  and  her  murdered  truth 

Seemed  risen  up  from  the  dead. 

She  hurried  out  into  the  noisy  street, 

For  the  silence  made  her  afraid; 
To  flee  from  thought  was  all  she  sought, 

She  cared  not  whither  she  strayed. 
Still  on  she  pressed  in  her  wild  unrest 

Up  avenues  skirting  the  park, 
Where  fashion's  throng  moved  gayly  along 

In  Vanity  Fair — when  hark  ! 

A  clatter  of  hoofs  down  the  stony  street, 

The  snort  of  a  frightened  horse 
That  was  running  wild,  and  a  laughing  child 

At  play  in  its  very  course. 
With  one  swift  glance  Meg  saw  it  all. 

14  His  child— my  God  !  his  child  !  " 


AND    OTHER   RECITATIONS.  4  7 

She  cried  aloud,  as  she  rushed  through  the  crowd 
Like  one  grown  suddenly  wild. 

There,  almost  under  the  iron  feet, 

Hemmed  in  by  a  passing  cart, 
Stood  the  baby  boy — the  pride  and  joy 

Of  the  man  who  had  broken  her  heart. 
Past  swooning  women  and  shouting  men 

She  fled  like  a  flash  of  light ; 
With  her  slender  arm  she  gathered  from  harm 

The  form  of  the  laughing  sprite. 

The  death-shod  feet  of  the  mad  horse  beat 

Her  down  on  the  pavings  gray  ; 
But  the  baby  laughed  out  with  a  merry  shout, 

And  thought  it  splendid  play. 
He  pulled  her  gown  and  called  to  her  :    "  Say, 

Dit  up  and  do  dat  some  more-, 
Das  jus'  ze  way  my  papa  play 

Wiz  me  on  ze  nursery  floor." 

When  the  frightened  father  reached  the  scene, 

His  boy  looked  up  and  smiled 
From  the  stiffening  fold  of  the  arm,  death-cold, 

Of  Meg,  who  had  died  for  his  child. 
Oh  !  idle  words  are  a  woman's  curse 

Who  loves  as  woman  can  ; 
For  put  to  the  test,  she  will  bare  her  breast 

And  die  for  the  sake  of  the  man. 


4  8  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


A    FABLE. 

OME  cawing  Crows,  a  hooting  Owl, 
A  Hawk,  a  Canary,  an  old  Marsh-Fowl, 
One  day  all  met  together 
To  hold  a  caucus  and  settle  the  fate 
Of  a  certain  bird  (without  a  mate), 
A  bird  of  another  feather. 

"  My  friends,"  said  the  Owl,  with  a  look  most  wise, 
"  The  Eagle  is  soaring  too  near  the  skies, 

In  a  way  that  is  quite  improper  ; 
Yet  the  world  is  praising  her,  so  I'm  told, 
And  I  think  her  actions  have  grown  so  bold 

That  some  of  us  ought  to  stop  her." 

"  I  have  heard  it  said,"  quoth  Hawk  with  a  sigh, 
"That  young  lambs  died  at  the  glance  of  her  eye, 

And  I  wholly  scorn  and  despise  her. 
This  and  more,  I  am  told,  they  say  ; 
And  I  think  that  the  only  proper  way 

Is  never  to  recognize  her." 

"I  am  quite  convinced,"  said  Crow  with  a  caw, 
M  That  the  Eagle  minds  no  moral  law  ; 
She's  a  most  unruly  creature." 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  49 

"  She's  an  ugly  thing,"  piped  Canary  Bird  ; 
"  Some  call  her  handsome  ;  it's  so  absurd — 
She  hasn't  a  decent  feature  !  " 

Then  the  old  Marsh  Hen  went  hopping  about ; 
She  said  she  was  sure — she  hadn't  a  doubt — 

Of  the  truth  of  each  bird's  story  ; 
And  she  thought  it  her  duty  to  stop  her  flight, 
To  pull  her  down  from  her  lofty  height, 

And  take  the  gilt  from  her  glory. 

But,  io !  from  a  peak  on  the  mountain  grand, 
That  looks  out  over  the  smiling  land, 

And  over  the  mighty  ocean, 
The  Eagle  is  spreading  her  splendid  wings — ■ 
She  rises,  rises,  and  upward  swings, 

With  a  slow,  majestic  motion. 

Up  in  the  blue  of  God's  own  skies, 
With  a  cry  of  rapture,  away  she  flies, 

Close  to  the  Great  Eternal. 
She  sweeps  the  world  with  her  piercing  sight  : 
Her  soul  is  filled  with  the  Infinite 

And  the  joy  of  things  supernal. 

Thus  rise  forever  the  chosen  of  God, 
The  genius-crowned  or  the  power-shod, 

Over  the  dust-world  sailing  ; 
And  back  like  splinters  blown  by  the  winds, 
Must  fall  the  missiles  of  silly  minds, 
4  Useless  and  unavailing. 


pa  HOW  S  ALVA  TOR    WON, 


THE  WAY  OF  IT. 


M, 


HIS  is  the  way  of  it,  wide  world  over, 
One  is  beloved,  and  one  is  the  lover, 
One  gives  and  the  other  receives. 
One  lavishes  all  in  wild  emotion, 
One  offers  a  smile  for  a  life's  devotion, 
One  hopes  and  the  other  believes. 
One  lies  awake  in  the  night  to  weep, 
And  the  other  drifts  off  in  a  sweet,  sound  sleep. 

One  soul  is  aflame  with  a  godlike  passion, 
One  plays  with  love  in  an  idler's  fashion, 

One  speaks  and  the  other  hears. 
One  sobs  "  I  love  you,"  and  wet  eyes  show  it, 
And  one  laughs  lightly,  and  says  "I  know  it," 

With  smiles  for  the  other's  tears. 
One  lives  for  the  other  and  nothing  beside, 
And  the  other  remembers  the  world  is  wide. 

This  is  the  way  of  it,  sad  earth  over, 

The  heart  that  breaks  is  the  heart  of  the  lover, 

And  the  other  learns  to  forget. 
"  For  what  is  the  use  of  endless  sorrow  ? 
Though  the  sun  goes  down,  it  will  rise  to-morrow ; 

And  life  is  not  over  yet." 
Oh  !  I  know  this  truth,  if  I  know  no  other, 
That  passionate  Love  is  Pain's  own  mother. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.         51 


THE  SUICIDE. 

'AST  was  the  wealth  I  carried  in  life's 
pack — 
Youth,  health,  ambition,  hope  and  trust  ; 

but  Time 
And  Fate,  those  robbers  fit  for  any  crime 
Stole  all,  and  left  me  but  the  empty  sack. 
Before  me  lay  a  long  and  lonely  track 
Of  darkling  hills  and  barren  steeps  to  climb  ; 
Behind  me  lay  in  shadows  the  sublime 
Lost  lands  of  Love's  delight.    Alack  !    Alack  ! 

Unwearied,  and  with  springing  steps  elate, 
I  had  conveyed  my  wealth  along  the  road. 
The  empty  sack  proved  now  a  heavier  load  : 

I  was  borne  down  beneath  its  worthless  weight. 

I  stumbled  on,  and  knocked  at  Death's  dark  gate. 
There  was  no  answer.  Stung  by  sorrow's  goad 
I  forced  my  way  into  that  grim  abode, 

And  laughed,  and  flung  Life's  empty  sack  to  Fate 


5*  HOW  S  ALVA  TOR    WON, 

Unknown  and  uninvited  I  passed  in 

To  that  strange  land  that  hangs  between  two 
goals, 

Round  which  a  dark  and  solemn  river  rolls — 
More  dread  its  silence  than  the  loud  earth's  din. 
And  now,  where  was  the  peace  I  hoped  to  win  ? 

Black-masted  ships  slid  past  me  in  great  shoals, 

Their   bloody   decks    thronged   with     mistaken 
souls. 
(God  punishes  mistakes  sometimes  like  sin.) 

Not  rest  and  not  oblivion  I  found. 

My  suffering  self  dwelt  with  me  just  the  same ; 

But   here  no  sleep   was,  and  no  sweet  dreams 
came 
To  give  me  respite.     Tyrant  Death,  uncrowned 
By  my  own  hand,  still  King  of  Terrors,  frowned 

Upon  my  shuddering  soul,  that  shrank  in  shame 

Before    those    eyes    where   sorrow    blent   with 
blame, 
And  those  accusing  lips  that  made  no  sound. 

What   gruesome  shapes   dawned    on    my  startled 
sight ! 

What  awful  sighs  broke  on  my  listening  ear  ! 

The  anguish  of  the  earth,  augmented  here 
A  thousand-fold,  made  one  continuous  night. 
The  sack  I  flung.away  in  impious  spite 

Hung  yet  upon  me,  r  !ed.  I  saw  in  fear, 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.         53 

With    tears   that   rained  from    earth's   adjacent 
sphere, 
And  turned  to  stones  in  falling  from  that  height. 

And  close  about  me  pressed  a  grieving  throng, 
Each  with  his  heavy  sack,  which  bowed  him  so 
His  face  was  hidden.      One  of  these  mourned  : 
"  Know 

Who  enters  here  but  finds  the  way  more  long 

To  those  fair  realms  where  sounds  the  angels'  song. 
There  is  no  man-made  exit  out  of  woe  ; 
Ye  cannot  dash  the  locked  door  down  and  go 

To  claim  thy  rightful  joy  through  paths  of  wrong." 

He  passed  into  the  shadows  dim  and  gray, 
And  left  me  to  pursue  my  path  alone. 
With  terror  greater  than  I  yet  had  known. 

Hard  on  my  soul  the  awful  knowledge  lay, 

Death  had  not  ended  life  nor  found  God's  way; 
But,  with  my  same  sad  sorrows  still  my  own, 
Where  by-roads  led  to  by-roads,  thistle-sown, 

I  had  but  wandered  off  and  gone  astray. 

With  earth  still  near  enough  to  hear  its  sighs, 
With  heaven  afar  and  hell  but  just  below, 
Still  on  and  on  my  lonely  soul  must  go 

Until  I  earn  the  right  to  Paradise. 

We  cannot  force  our  way  into  God's  skies, 
Nor  rush  into  the  rest  we  long  to  know; 
But  patiently,  with  bleeding  steps  and  slow, 

Toil  on  to  where  selfhood  in  Godhood  dies, 


54  HOW  SALVATOR    WON, 


^ 


NOW  I  LAY  ME." 


HEN  I  pass  from  earth  away, 
Palsied  though  I  be  and  gray, 
jtegF^     May  my  spirit  keep  so  young 
^>       That  my  failing,  faltering  tongue 
Frames  that  prayer  so  dear  to  me, 
Taught  me  at  my  mother's  knee  : 

"  Now  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep" 
(Passing  to  Eternal  rest 
On  the  loving  parent  breast) 

"  I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  keep  ;  " 
(From  all  danger  safe  and  calm 
In  the  hollow  of  His  palm  ;) 

"  If  I  should  die  before  I  wake" 
(Drifting  with  a  bated  breath 
Out  of  slumber  into  death,) 

"  I  pray  the  Lord  my  soul  to  take" 
(From  the  body's  claim  set  free 
Sheltered  in  the  Great  to  be.) 
Simple  prayer  of  trust  and  truth, 
Taught  me  in  my  early  youth — 
Let  my  soul  its  beauty  keep 
When  I  lay  me  down  to  sleep. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS,         55 


THE  MESSENGER. 

?HE  rose  up  in  the  early  dawn, 

And  white  and  silently  she  moved 
About  the  house.  Four  men  had  gone 
To  battle  for  the  land  they  loved, 
And  she,  the  mother  and  the  wife, 
Waited  for  tidings  from  the  strife. 
How  still  the  house  seemed  !  and  her  tread 
Was  like  the  footsteps  of  the  dead. 


The  long  day  passed  ;  the  dark  night  came. 

She  had  not  seen  a  human  face. 
Some  voice  spoke  suddenly  her  name. 

How  loud  it  echoed  in  that  place, 
Where,  day  on  day,  no  sound  was  heard 
But  her  own  footsteps.     "  Bring  you  word,' 
She  cried  to  whom  she  could  not  see, 
"  Word  from  the  battle-plain  to  me  ?" 

A  soldier  entered  at  the  door. 

And  stood  within  the  dim  firelight : 

"  I  bring  you  tidings  of  the  four," 
He  said,  "who  left  you  for  the  fight/' 


56  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

"God  bless  you,  friend,"  she  cried,  "  speak  on  ! 
For  I  can  bear  it.     One  is  gone  ?" 
"  Ay,  one  is  gone  !"  he  said.     "  Which  one  ?" 
"  Dear  lady,  he,  your  eldest  son." 

A  deathly  pallor  shot  across 

Her  withered  face  ;  she  did  not  weep. 
She  said  :  "  It  is  a  grievous  loss, 

But  God  gives  His  beloved  sleep. 
What  of  the  living — of  the  three  ? 
And  when  can  they  come  back  to  me?" 
The  soldier  turned  away  his  head  : 
"  Lady,  your  husband,  too,  is  dead." 

She  put  her  hand  upon  her  brow  ; 

A  wild,  sharp  pain  was  in  her  eyes. 
"  My  husband  !     Oh,  God,  help  me  now  \M 

The  soldier  heard  her  shuddering  sighs. 
The  task  was  harder  than  he  thought. 
''Your  youngest  son,  dear  madam,  fought 
Close  at  his  father's  side  ;  both  fell 
Dead,  by  the  bursting  of  a  shell." 

She  moved  her  lips  and  seemed  to  moan. 

Her  face  had  paled  to  ashen  gray  : 
"  Then  one  is  left  me — one  alone," 

She  said,  "  of  four  who  marched  away. 
Oh,  overruling,  All-wise  God, 
How  can  I  pass  beneath  Thy  rod  !" 
The  soldier  walked  across  the  floor, 
Paused  at  the  window,  at  the  door, 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS. 


57 


Wiped  the  cold  dew-drops  from  his  cheek 

And  sought  the  mourner's  side  again. 
"  Once  more,  dear  lady,  I  must  speak  : 

Your  last  remaining  son  was  slain 
Just  at  the  closing  of  the  fight, 
'Twas  he  who  sent  me  here  to-night." 
M  God  knows/'  the  man  said  afterward^ 
"  The  fight  itself  was  not  so  hard." 


58  HOW   S  ALVA  TOR    WON, 


ILLOGICAL. 

HE  stood  beside  me  while  I  gave  an  order 

for  a  bonnet. 
She  shuddered  when   I  said,  "  And  put  a 

bright  bird's  wing  upon  it." 
A  member   of  the   Audubon    Society  was 

she  ; 
And  cutting  were  her  comments  made  on 

worldlv  folks  like  me. 


6he  spoke  about  the  helpless  b^rds  we  wickedly 

were  harming ; 
She   quoted    the  statistics,   ana   they   really    were 

alarming ; 
She  said  God  meant  His  little  birds  to  sing  in  trees 

and  skies ; 
And  there  was  pathos  in  her  voice,  and  tears  were 

in  her  eyes. 

"  Oh,  surely,  in  this  beauteous  world  you  can  find 

lovely  things 
Enough    to   trim   your  hats,"  she  said,  "without 

the  dear  birds'  wings," 


AND    OTHER   RECITATIONS.  59 

I  sat  beside  her  that  same  day,  in  her  own  house  at 

dinner — 
Angelic  being  that  she  was  to  entertain  a  sinner  ! 

Her    well-appointed    table   groaned   beneath   the 

ample  spread  ; 
Course   followed    appetizing   course,    and  hunger, 

sated,  fled. 
But  still  my  charming  hostess  urged  :  "  Do  have  & 

reed-bird,  dear ; 
They  are  so  delicate  and  sweet  at  this  time  of  the 

year." 


6o  BOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


A  SERVIAN  LEGEND. 

ONG,  long  ago,  ere  yet  our  race  began, 
When  earth  was  empty,  waiting  still  for 
man, 
Before  the  breath  of  life  to  him  was  given 
The  angels  fell  into  a  strife  in  heaven. 

At  length  one  furious  demon  grasped  the  sun 
And  sped  away  as  fast  as  he  could  run, 
And  with  a  ringing  laugh  of  fiendish  mirth, 
He  leaped  the  battlements  and  fell  to  earth. 

Dark  was  it  then  in  heaven,  but  light  below  ; 
For  there  the  demon  wandered  to  and  fro, 
Tilting  aloft  upon  a  slender  pole 
The  orb  of  day — the  pilfering  old  soul. 

The   angels   wept   and  wailed  ;    but   through    the 

dark 
The  Great  Creator's  voice  cried  sternly  :  "Hark! 
Who  will  restore  to  me  the  orb  of  Light, 
Him  will  I  honor  in  all  heaven's  sight." 

Then  over  the  battlements  there  dropped  another. 

(A  shrewder  angel  well  there  could  not  be.) 
Quoth  he  :  "  Behold  my  love  for  thee,  my  brother, 

For  I  have  left  all  heaven  to  stay  with  thee. 


AND    0  THER    REGIT  A  TIONS.         6 1 

"  Thy  loneliness  and  wanderings  I  will  share, 

Thy  heavy  burden  I  will  help  thee  bear." 

"Well   said,"    the    demon    answered,    "and    well 

done, 
But  I'll  not  tax  you  with  this  heavy  sun. 

"  Your  company  will  cheer  me,  it  is  true, 
And  I  could  never  think  of  burdening  you." 
Idly  they  wandered  onward,  side  by  side, 
Till,  by  and  by,  they  neared  a  silvery  tide. 

"  Let's  bathe,"  the  angel  suddenly  suggested. 

"  Agreed,"  the  demon  answered.     "  I'll  go  last, 
Because  I  needs  must  leave  quite  unmolested 

This  tiresome  sun,  which  I  will  now  make  fast." 

He  set  the  pole  well  in  the  sandy  turf, 

And  called  a  jackdaw  near  to  watch  the  place. 

Meanwhile  the  angel  paddled  in  the  surf, 
And  playfully  dared  his  brother  to  a  race. 

They  swam  around  together  for  awhile,  ^ 

The  demon  always  keeping  near  his  prize, 

Till  presently  the  angel,  with  a  smile, 
Proposed  a  healthful  diving  exercise. 

The  demon  hesitated.     "  But,"  thought  he, 
"  The  jackdaw  will  inform  me  with  a  cry 

If  this  good  brother  tries  deceiving  me  ; 
I  will  not  be  outdone  by  him — not  I  ! 


62  BOW   $  ALVA  TOR    WON*, 

Down,  down  they  went.     The  angel  in  a  trice 
Rose  up  again,  and  swift  to  shore  he  sped. 

The  jackdaw  shrieked,  but  lo  !  a  mile  of  ice 
The  demon  found  had  frozen  o'er  his  head. 

He  swore  an  oath,  and  gathered  all  his  force, 
And  broke  the  ice,  to  see  the  sun,  of  course, 
Held  firmly  in  the  radiant  angel's  hand, 
Who  sailed  away  toward  the  heavenly  land. 

He  gave  pursuit.     Wrath  lent  speed  to  his  chase  ; 
All    heaven    leaned   down   to   watch  the   exciting 

race. 
On,  on  they  came,  and  still  the  Evil  One 
Gained  on  the  angel  burdened  with  the  sun. 

With  bated  breath  and  faces  white  as  ghosts, 
Over  the  walls  leaned  heaven's  affrighted  hosts. 
Up,  up,  still  up,  the  angel  almost  spent, 
Threw  one  foot  forward  o'er  the  battlement. 

The  demon  seized  the  other  with  a  shout; 

So  fierce  his  clutch  he  pulled  the  bottom  out, 

As  the  good  angel,  fainting,  laid  the  sun 

Down  by   the   throne  of  God,  who  cried  :  "  Well 

done  ! 
Thy  great  misfortune  shall  be  made  divine: 
Man  will  I  create  with  a  foot  like  thine  !  " 


AND    OTHER  RECITATIONS,         63 


PEEK-A-BOO. 

HE  cunningest  thing  that  a  baby  can  do 
Is  the  very  first  time  it  plays  peek-a-boo; 

When  it  hides   its  pink  little  face  in  its 
hands, 
And  crows,  and  shows  that  it  understands 

What  nurse,  and  mamma  and  papa,  too, 
Mean  when  they  hide  and  cry,  "  Peek-a-boo,  peek-- 
a-boo." 

Oh,  what  a  wonderful  thing  it  is, 

When  they  find  that  baby  can  play  like  this  ; 

And  everyone  listens,  and  thinks  it  true 
That  baby's    gurgle  means   "  Peek-a-boo,  peek-n- 
boo"; 

I 

And  over  and  over  tne  changes  are  rung 

On  the  marvelous  infant  who  talks  so  young. 

I  wonder  if  any  one  ever  knew 

A  baby  that  never  played  peek-a-boo,  peek-a-boo  ? 

'Tis  old  as  the  hills  are.     I  believe 
Cain  was  taught  it  by  Mother  Eve  ; 


64  HO  W   SAL  VA  TOR    WON, 

For  Cain  was  an  innocent  baby,  too, 

And  I  am  sure  he  played  peek-a-boo,  peek-a-boo. 

And  the  whole  world  full  of  the  children  of  men. 
Have  all  of  them  played  that  game  since  then. 

Kings  and  princes  and  beggars,  too, 
Everyone  has  played  peek-a-boo,  peek-a-boo. 

Thief  and  robber  and  ruffian  bold, 
The  crazy  tramp  and  the  drunkard  old, 

All'  have  been  babies  who  laughed  and  knew 
How  to  hide,  and  play  peek-a-boo,  peek-a-boo. 


AND    OTHE.i    RECITATIONS. 


65 


THE  FALLING  OF  THRONES. 

BOVE  the  din   of   commerce,    above    the 
clamor  and  rattle 
Of  labor  disputing  with  riches,  of  Anar- 
chists' threats  and  groans, 
Above  the  hurry  and  hustle  and  roar  of  that 
bloodless  battle, 
Where  men  are  fighting  for  riches,  I  hear  the  fall- 
ing of  thrones. 

I  see  no  savage  host,  I  hear  no  martial  drumming, 
But  down  in  the  dust  at  our  feet  lie  the  useless 
crowns  of  kings  ; 
And  the  mighty  spirit  of  Progress  is  steadily  com- 
ing, coming, 
And  the  flag  of  one  republic  abroad  to  the  world 
he  flings. 

The  Universal  Republic,  where  worth  not  birth  is 
royal ; 
Where  the  lowliest  born   may  climb  on  a  self- 
made  ladder  to  fame  ; 
Where  the  highest  and  proudest  born,  if  he  be  not 
true  and  loyal, 
Shall  find  no  masking  title  to  cover  and  gild  his 
shame. 


6/6  HOW   S  ALVA  TOR    WON, 

Not  with  the  bellow   of  guns  and  not  with  sabres 
whetting, 
But  with  growing  minds  of  men  is  waged   this 
swordless  fray  ; 
While  over  the  dim  horizon   the   sun   of  royalty, 
setting, 
Lights,    with    a   dying   splendor,    the    humblest 
toiler's  way. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  67 


HER   LAST  LETTER. 

^ITTING  alone  by  the  window, 

Watching  the  moonlit  street, 
jjSpif      Bending  my  head  to  listen 

To  the  well-known  sound  of  your  feet, 
I  have  been  wondering,  darling, 

How  I  can  bear  the  pain, 
When  I  watch,  with  sighs  and  tear-wet  eyes, 
And  wait  for  your  coming  in  vain.     ■ 

For  I  know  that  a  day  approaches 

When  your  heart  will  tire  of  me ; 
When  by  door  and  gate  I  may  watch  and  wait 

For  a  form  I  shall  not  see. 
When  the  love  that  is  now  my  heaven, 

The  kisses  that  make  my  life, 
You  will  bestow  on  another, 

And  that  other  will  be — your  wife. 

You  will  grow  weary  of  sinning 

(Though  you  do  not  call  it  so), 
You  will  long  for  a  love  that  is  purer 

Than  the  love  that  we  two  know. 
God  knows  I  have  loved  you  dearly, 

With  a  passion  strong  as  true  ; 
Dut  you  will  grow  tired  and  leave  me, 

Though  I  gave  up  all  for  you. 


68  HOW    SALVATOR    WON 


I  was  as  pure  as  the  morning 

When  I  first  looked  on  your  face  ; 
I  knew  I  never  could  reach  you 

In  your  high,  exalted  place. 
But  I  looked  and  loved  and  worshiped 

As  a  flower  might  worship  a  star, 
And  your  eyes  shone  down  upon  me, 

And  you  seemed  so  far — so  far. 

And  then  ?     Well,  then,  you  loved  me, 

Loved  me  with  all  your  heart ; 
But  we  could  not  stand  at  the  altar, 

We  were  so  far  apart. 
If  a  star  should  wed  with  a  flower 

The  star  must  drop  from  the  sky, 
Or  the  flower  in  trying  to  reach  it 

Would  droop  on  its  stalk  and  die. 

But  you  said  that  you  loved  me,  darling, 

And  swore  by  the  heavens  above 
That  the  Lord  and  all  of  His  angels 

Would  sanction  and  bless  our  love. 
And  I  ?     I  was  weak,  not  wicked. 

My  love  was  as  pure  as  true, 
And  sin  itself  seemed  a  virtue 

If  only  shared  by  you. 

We  have  been  happy  together, 
Though  under  the  cloud  of  sin, 

But  I  know  that  the  day  approaches 
When  my  chastening  must  begin. 


AJSTD    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  69 

You  have  been  faithful  and  tender, 

But  you  will  not  always  be, 
And  I  think  I  had  better  leave  you 

While  your  thoughts  are  kind  of  me. 

I  know  my  beauty  is  fading — 

Sin  furrows  the  fairest  brow — 
And  I  know  that  your  heart  will  weary 

Of  the  face  you  smile  on  now. 
You  will  take  a  bride  to  your  bosom 

After  you  turn  from  me  ; 
You  will  sit  with  your  wife  in  the  moonlight, 

And  hold  her  babe  on  your  knee. 

Oh,  God  !  I  never  could  bear  it ; 

It  would  madden  my  brain,  I  know ; 
And  so  while  you  love  me  dearly 

I  think  I  had  better  go. 
It  is  sweeter  to  feel,  my  darling — 

To  know  as  I  fall  asleep^ 
That  some  one  will  mourn  me  and  miss  me, 

That  some  one  is  left  to  weep, 

Than  to  die  as  I  should  in  the  future, 

To  drop  in  the  street  some  day, 
Unknown,  unwept  and  forgotten 

After  you  cast  me  away. 
Perhaps  the  blood  of  the  Saviour 

Can  wash  my  garments  clean  ; 
Perchance  I  may  drink  of  the  waters 

That  flow  through  pastures  green. 


7o  HOW  SALVATOR    WON, 

Perchance  we  may  meet  in  heaven, 

And  walk  in  the  streets  above, 
With  nothing  to  grieve  us  or  part  us 

Since  our  sinning  was  all  through  love. 
God  says,  "  Love  one  another," 

And  down  to  the  depths  of  hell 
Will  he  send  the  soul  of  a  women 

Because  she  loved — and  fell  ? 


And  so  in  the  moonlight  he  found  her, 

Or  found  her  beautiful  clay, 
Lifeless  and  pallid  as  marble, 

For  the  spirit  had  flown  away. 
The  farewell  words  she  had  written 

She  held  to  her  cold,  white  breast, 
And  the  buried  blade  of  a  dagger 

Told  how  she  had  gone  to  rest. 


m- 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  71 


BABYLAND. 

I  AVE  you  heard  of  the  Valley  of  Babyland, 
The  realm  where  the  dear  little  darlings 
stay, 
Till  the  kind  storks  go,  as  all  men  know, 

And  oh,  so  tenderly  bring  them  away  ? 
The  paths  are  winding  and  past  all  finding 
By  all  save  the  storks,  who  understand 
The  gates  and  the  highways  and  the  intricate 
by-ways 

That  lead  to  Babyland. 

All  over  the  Valley  of  Babyland 

Sweet  flowers  bloom  in  the  soft  green  moss, 
And  under  the  ferns  fair,  and  under  the  plants  there 

Lie  little  heads  like  spools  of  floss. 
With  a  soothing  number  the  river  of  slumber 

Flows  o'er  a  bedway  of  silver  sand  ; 
And  angels  are  keeping  watch  o'er  the  sleeping 
Babes  of  Babyland. 

The  path  to  the  Valley  of  Babyland 

Only  th^  kingly,  kind  storks  know  ; 
If  they  fly  over  mountains,  or  wade  through  fount- 
ains, 


72  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

No  man  sees  them  come  or  go. 
Dut  an  angel  maybe,  who  guards  some  baby, 

Or  a  fairy,  perhaps,  with  her  magic  wand, 
Brings  them  straightway  to  the  wonderful  gateway 
That  leads  to  Babyland. 

And  there,  in  the  Valley  of  Babyland, 
Under  the  mosses  and  leaves  and  ferns, 

Like  an  unfledged  starling  they  find  the  darling 
For  whom  the  heart  of  a  mother  yearns  ; 

And  they  lift  him  lightly  and  snug  him  tightly 
In  feathers  soft  as  a  lady's  hand, 

And  off  with  a  rockaway  step  they  walk  away 
Out  of  Babyland. 

As  they  go  from  the  Valley  of  Babyland 

Forth  into  the  world  of  great  unrest, 
Sometimes  weeping  he  wakes  from  sleeping 

Before  he  reaches  the  mother's  breast. 
Ah,  how  she  blesses  him,  how  she  caresses  him, 

Bonniest  bird  in  the  bright  home  band 
That  o'er  land  and  water  the  kind  stork  brought 
her 

From  far-off  Babyland. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS  73 


FISHING. 

AYBE  this  is  fun,  sitting  in  the  sun, 
With  a  book  and  parasol,  as  my  angler 

wishes, 
While  he  dips  his  line  in  the  ocean  brine, 
Under  the  impression  that  his  bait  will 
catch  the  fishes. 


'Tis  romantic — yes,  but  I  must  confess 

Thoughts  of  shady  rooms  at  home  somehow  seem 

more  inviting. 
But  I  dare  not  move — "  Quiet  there,  my  love  !  " 
Says    my   angler,  "  for    I   think  a    monster  fish  is 

biting."  ; 

Oh,  of  course,  it's  bliss — but  how  hot  it  is  ! 

And  the  rock  I'm  sitting  on  grows  harder  every 

minute  ; 
Still  my  fisher  waits,  trying  various  baits, 
But  the  basket  at  his  side,  I  see,  has  nothing  in  it. 

Oh,  it's  just  the  way  to  pass  a  July  day, 
Arcadian  and  sentimental,  dreamy,  idle,  charming  ; 
But  how  fierce  the   sunlight  falls !  and    the  way 

that  insect  crawls 
Along  my  neck  and  down  my  back  is  really  quite 

alarming. 


74  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

u  Any  luck  ?  "  I  gently  ask  of  the  angler  at  his  task  ; 
"  There's  something  pulling  at  my  line,"  he  says; 

"I've  almost  caught  it." 
But  when,  with  blistered  face,  we   our  homeward 

steps  retrace, 
We   take   the  little   basket  just   as  empty  as  we 

brought  it. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  75 


THE  OLD  STAGE  QUEEN. 

ACK  in  her  box  by  the  curtains  shaded 
She  sits  alone,  by  the  house  unseen  ; 

Her  eye  is  dim  and  her  cheek  is  faded. 
She  who  once  was  the  people's  queen. 

The  curtain  rolls  up,  and  she  sees  before  her 
A  vision  of  beauty  and  youth  and  grace. 
Ah  !  no  wonder  all  hearts  adore  her, 
Silver-throated  and  fair  of  face. 

Out  of  her  box  she  leans  and  listens  : 
O  !  is  it  with  pleasure  or  with  despair 

That  her  thin  cheek  pales,  and  her  dim  eye  glistens 
While  that  fresh  young  voice  sings  the  grand  old 
air? 

She  is  back  again  in  her  past's  bright  splendor, 
When  life  was  worth  living  and  love  was  a  truth  ; 

Ere  Time  had  told  her  she  must  surrender 
Her  double  dower  of  fame  and  youth. 

It  is  she  herself  who  stands  there  singing 
To  that  sea  of  faces,  that  shines  and  stirs  ; 

And  the  cheers  on  cheers  that  go  up  ringing 
And  rousing  the  echoes,  are  hers,  all  hers  ! 


76  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

Just  for  one  moment  the  sweet  delusion 
Quickens  her  pulses,  and  blurs  her  sight, 

And  wakes  within  her  that  wild  confusion 
Of  joy  that  is  anguish  and  fierce  delight. 

Then  the  curtain  goes   down,  and  the  lights  are 
gleaming 

Brightly  o'er  circle  and  box  and  stall  ; 
She  starts  like  a  sleeper  who  wakes  from  dreaming: 

Her  youth  lies  under  Time's  funeral  pall. 

Her  day  is  dead,  and  her  star  descended 

Never  to  rise  or  to  shine  again  ; 
Her  reign  is  over,  her  queenship  ended — 

A  new  name  is  sounded  and  sung  by  men 

All  the  glitter  and  glow  and  splendor, 

All  the  glory  of  that  lost  day, 
With  the  friends  that  seemed  true  and  the  love  that 
seemed  tender, 

Why,  what  is  it  all  but  a  dead  bouquet ! 

She  rises  to  go  ;  has  the  night  turned  colder? 

The  new  queen  answers  to  call  and  shout ; 
And  the  old  queen  looks  back  over  her  shoulder 

As,  all  unnoticed,  she  passes  out. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  77 


THE  PRINCESS'S  FINGER-NAIL 


A    TALE    OF    NONSENSE    LAND. 


^LL  through  the  Castle  of  High-bred  Ease, 
Where  the  chief  employment  was  do-as- 
you-please, 
Spread  consternation  and  wild  despair. 

The  queen  was  wringing  her  hands  and  hair  ; 

The  maids  of  honor  were  sad  and  solemn  ; 
The  pages  looked  blank  as  they  stood  in  column  ; 
The  court-jester  blubbered,  "  Boo-hoo,  boo-hoo  "; 
The  cook  in  the  kitchen  dropped  tears  in  the  stew; 
And  all  through  the  castle  went  sob  and  wail, 
For  the  princess  had  broken  her  finger-nail : 
The  beautiful  Princess  Red-as-a-Rose, 
Bride-eiect  of  the  Lord  High-Nose, 
Broken  her  finger-nail  down  to  the  quick — 
No  wonder  the  queen  and  her  court  were  sick., 
Never  sorrow  so  dread  before 
Had  dared  to  enter  that  castle  door. 
Oh  !   what  would  my  Lord  His-High-Nose  say 
When  she  took  off  her  glove  on  her  wedding-day  ? 
The  fairest  princess  in  Nonsense  Land, 
With  a  broken  finger-nail  on  her  hand  I 
'Twas  a  terrible,  terrible  accident, 


78  HO IV   SALVATOR     WON, 

And  they  called  a  meeting  of  parliament ; 

And  never  before  that  royal  Court 

Had  come  such  question  of  grave  import 

As  "  How  could  you  hurry  a  nail  to  grow?" 

And  the  skill  of  the  kingdom  was  called  to  show. 

They  sent  for  Monsieur  File-'em-off ; 

He   smoothed   down    the   corners   so    ragged  and 

rough. 
They  sent  for  Madame  la  Diamond-Dust, 
Who  lived  on  the  fingers  of  nipper-crust ; 
They  sent  for  Professor  de  Chamois-Skin, 
Who  took  her  powder  and  rubbed  it  in  ; 
They  sent  for  the  pudgy  nurse  Fat-on-the-bone 
To  bathe  her  finger  in  eau  de  Cologne  ; 
And  they  called  the  Court  surgeon,  Monsieur  Red- 
Tape, 
To  hear  what  he  thought  of  the  new  nail's  shape. 
Over  the  kingdom  the  telegrams  flew 
Which  told  how  the  finger-nail  thrived  and  grew  ; 
And  all  through  the  realm  of  Nonsense  Land 
They  offered  up  prayers  for  the  princess's  hand. 
At   length  the  glad   tidings   were   heard    with    i» 

shout 
That  the  princess's  finger-nail  had  grown  out: 
Pointed  and  polished  and  pink  and  clean, 
Befitting  the  hand  of  a  some-day  queen. 
Salutes  were  fired  all  over  the  land 
By  the  home-guard  battery  pop-gun  band; 
And  great  was  the  joy  of  my  Lord  High-Nose, 
Who  straightway  ordered  his  wedding  clothes, 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS  79 

And  paid  his  tailor,  Doa  Wait-for-aye, 

Who  died  of  amazement  the  self-same  day. 

My  lord  by  a  jury  was  judged  insane; 

For  they  said,  and  the  truth  of  the   saying  was 

plain, 
That  a  lord  of  such  very  high  pedigree 
Would  never  be  paying  his  bills,  you  see, 
Unless  he  was  out  of  his  head;  and  so 
They  locked  him  up  without  more  ado. 
And  the  beautiful  Princess  Red-as-a-Rose 
Pined  for  her  lover,  my  Lord  High-Nose, 
Till  she  entered  a  convent  and  took  the  veil — 
And  this  is  the  end  of  my  nonsense  tale. 


8o  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


A  BABY  IN  THE  HOUSE. 

KNEW  that  a  baby  was  hid  in  the  house; 
Though  I  saw  no  cradle  and  heard  no 
cry, 
But  the  husband  went  tiptoeing  'round 
like  a  mouse, 
And  the  good  wife  was  humming  a  soft  lul- 
laby ; 
And  there  was  a  look  on  the  face  of  that  mother 
That  I  knew  could  mean  only  one  thing,  and  no 
other. 

" The  mother"  I  said  to  myself  ;  for  I  knew 
That  the  woman  before  me  was  certainly  that, 

For  there  lay  in  the  corner  a  tiny  cloth  shoe, 
And  I  saw  on  the  stand  such  a  wee  little  hat ; 

And  the  beard  of  the  husband  said  plain  as  could 
be, 

"  Two  fat,  chubby  hands  have  been  tugging  at  me." 

And  he  took  from  his  pocket  a  gay  picture-book, 
And  a  dog  that  would  bark  if  you  pulled  on  a 
string  ; 

And  the  wife  laid  them  up  with  such  a  pleased  look  ; 
And  I  said  to  myself,  "There  is  no  other  thing 

But  a  babe  that  could  bring  about  all  this,  and  so 

That  one  is  in  hiding  here  somewhere,  I  know." 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS. 


81 


I  stayed  but  a  moment,  and  saw  nothing  more, 
And  heard  not  a  sound,  yet  I  knew  I  was  right ; 

What  else  could  the  shoe  mean  that  lay  on  the  floor. 
The  book  and  the  toy,  and  the  faces  so  bright  ? 

And  what  made  the  husband  as  still  as  a  mouse  ? 

I  am  sure,  very  sure,  there's  a  babe  in  that  house. 


82  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


THE  FOOLISH  ELM. 

HE  bold  young  Autumn  came  riding  along 
One  day  where  an  elm-tree  grew. 
"  You  are  fair,"  he  said,  as  she  bent  down 
her  head, 
"Too  fair  for  your  robe's  dull  hue. 

You  are  far  too  young  for  a  garb  so  old  ; 
Your  beauty  needs  color  and  sheen. 
Oh,  I  would  clothe  you  in  scarlet  and  gold 
Befitting  the  grace  of  a  queen. 

"  For  one  little  kiss  on  your  lips,  sweet  elm, 

For  one  little  kiss,  no  more, 
I  would  give  you,  I  swear,  a  robe  more  fair 

Than  ever  a  princess  wore. 
One  little  kiss  on  those  lips,  my  pet, 

And  lo  !  you  shall  stand,  I  say, 
Queen  of  the  forest,  and,  better  yet, 

Queen  of  my  heart  alway." 

She  tossed  her  head,  but  he  took  the  kiss — 

'Tis  the  way  of  lovers  bofd — 
And  a  gorgeous  dress  for  that  sweet  caress 

He  gave  ere  the  morning  was  old. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  83 

For  a  week  and  a  day  she  ruled  a  queen 

In  beauty  and  splendid  attire  ; 
For  a  week  and  a  day  she  was  loved,  I  ween, 

With  the  love  that  is  born  of  desire. 

Then  bold-eyed  Autumn  went  on  his  way 

In  search  of  a  tree  more  fair  ; 
And  mob  winds  tattered  her  garments  and  scattered 

Her  finery  here  and  there. 
Poor  and  faded  and  ragged  and  cold 

She  rocked  in  her  wild  distress, 
And  longed  for  the  dull  green  gown  she  had  sold 

For  her  fickle  lover's  caress. 

And  the  days  went  by  and  Winter  came, 

And  his  tyrannous  tempests  beat 
On  the  shivering  tree,  whose  robes  of  flame 

He  had  trampled  under  his  feet. 
I  saw  her  reach  up  to  the  mocking  skies 

Her  poor  arms,  bare  and  thin  ; 
Ah,  well-a-day  !   it  is  ever  the  way 

With  a  woman  who  trades  with  sin. 


84 


HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


ROBIN'S    MISTAKE. 

HAT  do  you  think  Red  Robin 
Found  by  a  mow  of  hay  ? 
Why,  a  flask  brimful  of  liquor, 

That  the  mowers  brought  that  day 
To  slake  their  thirst  in  the  hayfield. 

And  Robin  he  shook  his  head  : 
Now,  I  wonder  what  they  call  it, 
And  how  it  tastes  ?  "  he  said. 


"  I  have  seen  the  mowers  drink  it — 

Why  isn't  it  good  for  me  ? 
So  I'll  just  draw  out  the  stopper 

And  get  at  the  stuff,  and  see  ! " 
But  alas  !  for  the  curious  Robin, 

One  draught,  and  he  burned  his  throat 
From  his  bill  to  his  poor  crop's  lining, 

And  he  could  not  utter  a  note. 

And  his  head  grew  light  and  dizzy, 
And  he  staggered  left  and  right,  , 

Tipped  over  the  flask  of  brandy, 
And  spilled  it,  every  mite. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  85 

But  after  awhile  he  sobered, 

And  quietly  flew  away, 
And  he  never  has  tasted  liquor, 

Or  touched  it,  since  that  day. 

But  I  heard  him  say  to  his  kindred. 

In  the  course  of  a  friendly  chat, 
"  These  men  think  they  are  above  us, 

Yet  they  drink  such  stuff  as  that  ! 
Oh,  the  poor  degraded  creatures  ! 

I  am  glad  I  am  only  a  bird  !  " 
Then  he  flew  up  over  the  meadow, 

And  that  was  all  I  heard. 


IIH^ 


86  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


flfe, 


NEW  YEAR  RESOLVE. 

pS  the  dead  year  is  clasped  by  a    dead    De- 
cember, 
So    let   your   dead    sins  with  your  dead 
days  lie. 
A  new  life  is  yours  and  a    new    hope.     Re- 
member 

We  build  our  own  ladders  to  climb  to  the 
sky. 

Stand  out  in  the  sunlight  of  promise,  forgetting 
Whatever  the  past  held  of  sorrow  and  wrong. 

We  waste  half  our  strength  in  a  useless  regretting; 
We  sit  by  old  tombs  in  the  dark  too  long. 

Have  you  missed  in  your  aim  ?     Well,  the  mark  is 
still  shining. 
Did  you  faint  in  the  race?    Well,  take  breath  for 
the  next. 
Did  the  clouds  drive  you   back  ?     But  see  yonder 
their  lining. 
Were  you  tempted  and  fell?     Let  it  serve  for  a 
text. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  *7 

As  each  year  hurries  by,  let  it  join  that  procession 
Of  skeleton  shapes  that  march  down  to  the  past 
While   you   take   your   place   in    the  line  of  pro- 
gression, 
With  your  eyes  to  the  heavens,  your  face  to  the 
blast. 

I  tell  you  the  future  can  hoid  no  terrors 
For  any  sad  soul  while  the  stars  revolve, 

If  he  will  stand  firm  on  the  grave  of  his  errors, 
And  instead  of  regretting — resolve,  resolve  ! 

It  is  never  too  late  to  begin  rebuilding, 

Though  all  into  ruins  your  life  seems  hurled  ; 

For  see  !  how  the  light  of  the  New  Year  is  gilding 
The  wan,  worn  face  of  the  bruised  old  world. 


S&  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


WHAT  WE  WANT. 


»LL 


hail  the  dawn  of  a  new  day  breaking, 
When  a  strong-armed   nation  shall  take 
away 
The  weary    burdens    from   backs  that  are 
aching 
With  maximum  labor  and  minimum  pay ; 
When   no  man  is  honored  who  hoards  his 
millions  ; 
.  When  no  man  feasts  on  another's  toil. 
And  God's  poor  suffering,  striving  billions 
Shall  share  his  riches  of  sun  and  soil. 

There  is  gold  for  all  in  the  earth's  broad  bosom, 

There  is  food  for  all  in  the  land's  great  store  ; 
Enough  is  provided  if  rightly  divided  ; 

Let  each  man  take  what  he  needs — no  more. 
Shame  on  the  miser  with  unused  riches, 

Who  robs  the  toiler  to  swell  his  hoard, 
Who  beats  down  the  wage  of  the  digger  of  ditches, 

And  steals  the  bread  from  the  poor  man's  board. 

Shame  on  the  owner  of  mines  whose  cruel 

And  selfish  measures  have  brought  him  wealth, 

While  the  ragged  wretches  who  dig  his  fuel 
Are  robbed  of  comfort  and  hope  and  health. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  89 

Shame  on  the  ruler  who  rides  in  his  carriage 
Bought  with  the  labor  of  half-paid  men — 

Men  who  are  shut  out  of  home  and  marriage 
And  are  herded  like  sheep  in  a  hovel  pen. 

Let  the  clarion  voice  of  the  nation  wake  him 

To  broader  vision  and  fairer  play  ; 
Or  let  the  hand  of  a  just  law  shake  him 

Till  his  ill-gained  dollars  shall  roll  away. 
Let  no  man  dwell  under  a  mountain  of  plunder, 

Let  no  man  suffer  with  want  and  cold  ; 
We  want  right  living,  not  mere  alms-giving  ; 

We  want  just  dividing  of  labor  and  gold. 


9o  HOW    SALVATOR    WON, 


THE  TWO   GLASSES. 

HERE  sat  two  glasses,  filled  to  the  brim, 
On  a  rich  man's  table,  rim  to  rim. 
One  was  ruddy  and  red  as  blood, 
And  one  was  as  clear  as  the  crystal  flood. 

Said  the  glass  of  wine  to  his  paler  brother  : 
"  Let  us  tell  tales  of  the  past  to  each  other. 
I  can  tell  of  banquet,  and  revel,  and  mirth, 
Where  I  was  king,  for  I  ruled  in  might ; 
And  the  proudest  and  grandest  souls  on  earth 
Fell  under  my  touch,  as  though  struck  with  blight. 
From  the  heads  of  kings  I  have  torn  the  crown  ; 
From  the  heights  of  fame  I  have  hurled  men  down  ; 
I  have  blasted  many  an  honored  name  ; 
I  have  taken  virtue  and  given  shame ; 
I  have  tempted  the  youth,  with  a  sip,  a  taste, 
That  has  made  his  future  a  barren  waste. 
Far  greater  than  any  king  am  I, 
Or  than  any  army  under  the  sky. 
I  have  made  the  arm  of  the  driver  fail, 
And  sent  the  train  from  its  iron  rail. 
I  have  made  good  ships  go  down  at  sea, 
And  the  shrieks  of  the  lost  were  sweet  to  me. 
Fame,  strength,  wealth,  genius,  before  me  fall, 
And  my  might  and  power  are  Over  all. 
Ho  !  ho  !  pale  brother,"  laughed  the  wine, 
14  Can  you  boast  of  deeds  as  great  as  mine  f" 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  91 

Said  the  glass  of  water  :     "  I  cannot  boast 

Of  a  king  dethroned  or  a  murdered  host ; 

But  I  can  tell  of  hearts  that  were  sad, 

By  my  crystal  drops  made  light  and  glad. 

Of  thirsts  I  have  quenched,  and  brows  I  have  laved ', 

Of  hands  I  have  cooled  and  souls  I  have  saved. 

I  have  leaped  through  the  valley  and  dashed  down 
the  mountain  ; 

Slept  in  the  sunshine  and  dripped  from  the  foun- 
tain. 

I  have  burst  my  cloud-fetters  and  dropped  from 
the  sky, 

And  everywhere  gladdened  the  landscape  and  eye. 

I  have  eased  the  hot  forehead  of  fever  and  pain ; 

I  have  made  the  parched  meadows  grow  fertile 
with  grain  ; 

I  can  tell  of  the  powerful  wheel  o'  the  mill, 

That  ground  out  the  flour  and  turned  at  my  will ; 

I  can  tell  of  manhood,  debased  by  you, 

That  I  have  uplifted  and  crowned  anew. 

I  cheer,  I  help,  I  strengthen  and  aid, 

I  gladden  the  heart  of  man  and  maid  ; 

I  set  the  chained  wine-captive  free, 

And  all  are  better  for  knowing  me." 

These  are  the  tales  they  told  each  other, 
The  glass  of  wine,  and  its  paler  brother, 
As  they  sat  together,  filled  to  the  brim, 
On  the  rich  man's  table,  rim  to  rim. 


92  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


A  PIN. 


*H,  I  know  a  certain  woman  who  is  reckoned 
with  the  good, 
But  she  fills  me  with  more  terror  than  a 
raging  lion  could. 
The  little  chills  run  up  and  down  my  spine 

whene'er  we  meet, 
Though    she    seems    a   gentle   creature    and 
she's  very  trim  and  neat. 

And    she   has    a   thousand    virtues    and    not    one 

acknowledged  sin, 
But  she  is  the  sort  of  person  you  could  liken  to  a 

pin. 
And   she  pricks  you,  and  she  sticks  you,  in  a  way 

that  can't  be  said — 
When  you  seek  for  what  has  hurt  you,  why,  you 

cannot  find  the  head. 

But  she  fills  you  with  discomfort  and  exasperating 

pain — 
If  anybody  asks  you  why,  you  really  can't  explain. 
A  pin  is  such  a  tiny  thing — of  that   there  is  no 

doubt — 
Yet  when  it's  sticking  in  your  flesh,  you're  wretched 

till  it's  out  ! 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  93 

She  is  wonderfully  observing.     When  she  meets  a 

pretty  girl 
She  is  always  sure  to  tell  her  if  her  "  bang  "  is  out 

of  curl. 
And   she  is  so  sympathetic  ;    to  her  friend  who's 

much  admired, 
She  is  often  heard  remarking  :  "  Dear,  you  look  so 

worn  and  tired  !" 

And  she  is  a  careful  critic  ;  for  on  yesterday  she 

eyed 
The  new  dress  I  was  airing  with  a  woman's  natural 

pride, 
And  she  said  :    "  Oh,  how  becoming  !"  and   then 

softly  added,  "It 
Is  really  a  misfortune  that  the  basque  is   such  a 

fit." 

Then  she  said  :  "  If  you  hrid  heard  me  yestereve, 

I'm  sure,  my  friend, 
You  would  say  I  am  a  champion  who  knows  how 

to  defend."  j 

And  she  left   me  with  a  feeling — most  unpleasant, 

I  aver — 
That  the  whole  world  would  despise  me  if  it  hadn't 

been  for  her. 

Whenever  I  encounter  her,  in  such  a  nameless  way 
She  gives  me  the  impression  I  am  at  my  worst  that 
day; 


94 


HOW   SALVATOR    WON 


And  the  hat  that  was  imported  (and  that  cost  me 

half  a  sonnet) 
With  just  one  glance  from  her  round  eyes  becomes 

a  Bowery  bonnet. 

She  is  always  bright  and  smiling,  sharp  and  shining 

for  a  thrust ; 
Use  does  not  seem  to  blunt  her  point,  nor  does  she 

gather  rust. 
Oh  !  I  wish  some  hapless    specimen  of    mankind 

would  begin 
To  tidy  up  the  world  for  me",  by  picking  up  this 

pin. 


liSaiESS 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  95 


BREAKING  THE  DAY  IN  TWO. 

HEN  from  dawn  till  noon  seems  one  long 
day, 
And  from  noon  till  night  another, 
Oh,  then  should  a  little  boy  come  from 

play, 
And  creep  into  the  arms  of  his  mother. 
Snugly  creep  and  fall  asleep, 
O  come,  my  baby,  do; 
Creep  into  my  lap,  and  with  a  nap, 
•    We'll  break  the  day  in  two. 

When  the  shadows  slant  for  afternoon, 

When  the  midday  meal  is  over; 
When  the  winds  have  sung   themselves  into  a 
swoon, 
And  the  bees  drone  in  the  cloven 
Then  hie  to  me,  hie,  for  a  lullaby — 

Come,  my  baby,  do; 
Creep  into  my  lap,  and  with  a  nap 
We'll  break  the  day  in  two. 


96  HO  IV    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

We'll  break  it  in  two  with  a  crooning  song, 

With  a  soft  and  soothing  number; 
For  the  day  has  no  right  to  be  so  long 

And  keep  my  baby  from  slumber. 
Then  rock-a-by,  rock,  may  white  dreams  flock 

Like  angels  over  you; 
Baby's  gone,  and  the  deed  is  done 

We've  broken  the  day  in  two. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  97 


THE  RAPE  OF  THE  MIST. 

IGH  o'er  the  clouds  a  Sunbeam  shone, 
And  far  down  under  him, 
With  a  subtle  grace  that  was  all  her  own, 
The  Mist  gleamed,  fair  and  dim. 

He  looked  at  her  with  his  burning  eyes 
And  longed  to  fall  at  her  feet ; 
Of  all  sweet  things  there  under  the  skies, 
He  thought  her  the  thing  most  sweet. 

He  had  wooed  oft,  as  a  sunbeam  may, 

Wave,  and  blossom,  and  flower  ;  ' 
But  never  before  had  he  felt  the  sway 

Of  a  great  love's  mighty  power. 

Tall  cloud-mountains  and  vast  space-seas. 

Wind,  and  tempest,  and  fire — 
What  are  obstacles  such  as  these 

To  a  heart  that  is  filled  with  desire 

Boldly  he  trod  over  cloud  and  star, 

Boldly  he  swam  through  space, 

She  caught  the  glow  of  his  eyes  afar 

And  veiled  her  delicate  face. 
7 


93  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

He  was  so  strong  and  he  was  so  bright, 
And  his  breath  was  a  breath  of  flame  ; 

The  Mist  grew  pale  with  a  vague,  strange  fright, 
As  fond,  yet  fierce,  he  came. 

Close  to  his  heart  she  was  clasped  and  kissed  ; 

She  swooned  in  love's  alarms, 
And  dead  lay  the  beautiful  pale-faced  Mist 

In  the  Sunbeam's  passionate  arms. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.  99 


THE  MANIAC. 

SAW  them  sitting  in  the  shade  ; 
The  long  green  vines  hung  over, 
But  could  not  hide  the  gold-haired  maid 
And  Earl,  my  dark-eyed  lover. 
His  arm  was  clasped  so  close,  so  close, 
Her  eyes  were  softly  lifted, 
While  his  eyes  drank  the  cheek  of  rose 
And  breasts  like  snowflakes  drifted. 

A  strange  noise  sounded  in  my  brain  ; 

I  was  a  guest  unbidden. 
I  stole  away,  but  came  again 

With  two  knives  snugly  hidden. 
I  stood  behind  them.     Close  they  kissed, 

While  eye  to  eye  was  speaking  ; 
I  aimed  my  steels,  and  neither  missed 

The  heart  I  sent  it  seeking. 

There  were  two  death-shrieks  mingled  so 

It  seemed  like  one  voice  crying. 
I  laughed — it  was  such  bliss,  you  know, 

To  hear  and  see  them  dying. 


ioo  BOW    SALVATOR    WON, 

I  laughed  and  shouted  while  I  stood 

Above  the  lovers,  gazing 
Upon  the  trickling  rills  of  blood 

And  frightened  eyes  fast  glazing. 

It  was  such  joy  to  see  the  rose 

Fade  from  her  cheek  forever  ; 
To  know  the  lips  he  kissed  so  close 

Could  answer  never,  never. 
To  see  his  arm  grow  stark  and  cold,         , 

And  know  it  could  not  hold  her  ; 
To  know  that  while  the  world  grew  old 

His  eyes  could  not  behold  her. 

A  crowd  of  people  thronged  about, 

Brought  thither  by  my  laughter  ; 
I  gave  one  last  triumphant  shout — 

Then  darkness  followed  after. 
That  was  a  thousand  years  ago  ; 

Each  hour  I  live  it  over, 
For  there,  just  out  of  reach,  you  know, 

She  lies,  with  Earl,  my  lover. 

They  lie  there,  staring,  staring  so 

With  great,  glazed  eyes  to  taunt  me. 
Will  no  one  bury  them  down  low, 

Where  they  shall  cease  to  haunt  me  ? 
He  kissed  her  lips,  not  mine  ;  the  flowers 

And  vines  hung  all  about  them. 
Sometimes  I  sit  and  laugh  for  hours 

To  think  just  how  I  found  them. 


AND    OTHER    REC7TAY(0NS'       -ci 

And  then  I  sometimes  stand  and  shriek 

In  agony  of  terror  : 
I  see  the  red  warm  in  her  cheek, 

Then  laugh  loud  at  my  error. 
My  cheek  was  all  too  pale,  he  thought ; 

He  deemed  hers  far  the  brightest. 
Ha  !  but  my  dagger  touched  a  spot 

That  made  her  face  the  whitest  ! 

But  oh,  the  days  seem  very  long, 

Without  my  Earl,  my  lover  ; 
And  something  in  my  head  seems  wrong 

The  more  I  think  it  over. 
Ah  !  look — she  is  not  dead — look  there  ! 

She's  standing  close  beside  me  ! 
Her  eyes  are  open — how  they  stare  ! 

Oh,  hide  me  !  hide  me  !  hide  me  ! 


IWW    SAL  V A  TOR    WON, 


WHAT  IS  FLIRTATION  ? 

HAT  is  flirtation  ?     Really, 
How  can  I  tell  you  that? 
But  when  she  smiles  I  see  its  wiles, 
And  when  he  lifts  his  hat. 


'Tis  walking  in  the  moonlight, 

'Tis  buttoning  on  a  glove, 
'Tis  lips  that  speak  of  plays  next  week, 

While  eyes  are  talking  love. 

Tis  meeting  in  the  ball-room, 

'Tis  whirling  in  the  dance  ; 
'Tis  something  hid  beneath  the  lid, 

More  than  a  simple  glance. 

'Tis  lingering  in  the  hallway, 

'Tis  sitting  on  the  stair, 
'Tis  bearded  lips  on  finger-tips, 

If  mamma  isn't  there. 

'Tis  tucking  in  the  carriage, 

"Tis  asking  for  a  call  ; 
'Tis  long  good-nights  in  tender  lights, 

And  that  is — no,  not  all ! 

'Tis  parting  when  it's  over, 
And  one  goes  home  to  sleep  ; 

Best  joys  must  end,  tra  la,  my  friend, 
But  one  goes  home  to  weep  ! 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        103 


HOW  DOES  LOVE  SPEAK  ? 

OW  does  Love  speak? 

In    the   faint    flush    upon    the    tell-tale 
cheek, 
And  in  the  pallor  that  succeeds  it ;  by 
The  quivering  lid  of  an  averted  eye — 
The  smile  that  proves  the  parent  of  a  sigh  : 
Thus  doth  Love  speak. 

How  does  Love  speak  ? 
By  the  uneven  heart-throbs,  and  the  freak 
Of  bounding  pulses  that  stand  still  and  ache, 
While  new  emotions,  like  strange  barges,  make 
Along  vein-channels  their  disturbing  course, 
Still  as  the  dawn,  and  with  the  dawn's  swift  force: 

Thus  doth  Love  speak. 


How  does  Love  speak  ? 
In  the  avoidance  of  that  which  we  seek — 
The  sudden  silence  and  reserve  when  near  ; 
The  eye  that  glistens  with  an  unshed  tear ; 
The  joy  that  seems  the  counterpart  of  fear, 
As  the  alarmed  heart  leaps  in  the  breast, 
And    knows,  and    names,  and    greets    its   godlike 
guest : 

Thus  doth  Love  speak. 


104  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 

How  does  Love  speak  ? 
In  the  proud  spirit  suddenly  grown  meek, 
The  haughty  heart  grown  humble  ;  in  the  tender 
And    unnamed    light   that    floods    the  world  with 

splendor ; 
In  the  resemblance  which  the  fond  eyes  trace 
In  all  fair  things  to  one  beloved  face  ; 
In  the  shy  touch  of  hands  that  thrill  and  tremble  ; 
In  looks  and  lips  that  can  no  more  dissemble : 
Thus  doth  Love  speak. 

How  does  Love  speak  ? 
In  wild  words  that  uttered  seem  so  weak 
They  shrink  ashamed  to  silence  ;  in  the  fire 
Glance  strikes  with  glance,  swift  flashing  high  and 

higher, 
Like  lightnings  that  precede  the  mighty  storm  ; 
In  the  deep,  soulful  stillness  ;  in  the  warm, 
Impassioned  tide  that  sweeps  thro' throbbing  veins, 
Between  the  shores  of  keen  delights  and  pains  ; 
In  the  embrace  where  madness  melts  in  bliss, 
/And  in  the  convulsive  rapture  of  a  kiss  : 

Thus  doth  Love  speak. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.         105 


AS  YOU  GO  THROUGH  LIFE. 


lffilf  ON'T  look  for  the  flaws  as  you  go  through 
(|||f         life  ; 

And  even  when  you  find  them, 
It  is  wise  and  kind  to  be  somewhat  blind 
And  look  for  the  virtue  behind  them. 
For  the  cloudiest  night  has  a  hint  of  light 
Somewhere  in  its  shadows  hiding  ; 
It  is  better  by  far  to  hunt  for  a  star, 
Than  the  spots  on  the  sun  abiding. 

The  current  of  life  runs  ever  away 

To  the  bosom  of  God's  great  ocean. 
Don't  set  your  force  'gainst  the  river's  course 

And  think  to  alter  its  motion. 
Don't  waste  a  curse  on  the  universe — 

Remember  it  lived  before  you. 
Don't  butt  at  the  storm  with  your  puny  form, 

But  bend  and  let  it  go  o'er  you. 

The  world  will  never  adjust  itself 

To  suit  your  whims  to  the  letter. 
Some  things  must  go  wrong  your  whole  life  long, 

And  the  sooner  you  know  it  the  better. 
It  is  folly  to  fight  with  the  Infinite, 

And  go  under  at  last  in  the  wrestle  ; 
The  wiser  man  shapes  into  God's  plan 

As  water  shapes  into  a  vessel. 


io6  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 


\ 


MEMORY'S  RIVER. 

■N  Nature's  bright  blossoms  not  always  re- 
poses 
That  strange  subtle  essence  more  rare 
than  their  bloom, 
Which  lies  in  the  hearts  of  carnations  and 
roses. 

That  unexplained  something  by  men  called  per- 
fume. 
Though  modest  the  flower,  yet  great  is  its  power 
And  pregnant  with  meaning  each  pistil  and  leaf, 
If  only  it  hides  there,  if  only  abides  there, 

The  fragrance  suggestive  of  love,  joy  and  grief. 

Not  always  the  air  that  a  master  composes 

Can  stir  human  heart-strings  with  pleasure  or 
pain. 
But  strange,  subtle   chords,  like  the  scent  of  the 
roses, 
Breathe  out  of  some  measures,  though  simple  the 
strain. 
And  lo  !  when  you  hear  them,  you  love  them  and 
fear  them,* 
You  tremble  with  anguish,  you  thrill  with  de- 
light, 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        107 

For   back  of   them   slumber   old  dreams   without 
number, 
And  faces  long  vanished  peer  out  into  sight. 

Those  dear  foolish  days  when  the  earth  seemed  all 
beauty, 
Before  you  had  knowledge  enough  to  be  sad  ; 
When  youth  held  no  higher  ideal  of  duty 

Than  just  to  lilt  on  through  the  world  and  be 
glad. 
On  harmony's  river  they  seemed  to  float  hither 
With  all  the  sweet  fancies  that  hung  round  that 
time — 
Life's  burdens  and  troubles  turn  into  air-bubbles 
And  break  on  the  music's  swift  current  of  rhyme. 

Fair  Folly  comes  back  with  her  spell  while  you 
listen 
And  points  to   the   paths   where  she  led  you  of 
old. 
You    gaze   on  past   sunsets,   you    see   dead    stars 
glisten, 
You  bathe  in  life's  glory,  you  swoon  in  death's 
cold. 
All  pains  and  all  pleasures  surge  up  through  those 
measures, 
Your  heart  is  wrenched  open  with  earthquakes 
of  sound  ; 
From   ashes  and   embers  rise  Junes  and   Decem- 
bers, 
Lost  islands  in  fathoms  of  feeling  refound. 


108  HOW    SAL  V A  TOR    WON, 

Some  airs  are  like  outlets  of  memory's  oceans, 

They  rise  in  the  past  and  flow  into  the  heart  ; 
And  down  them  float  shipwrecks  of  mighty  emo- 
tions, 
All    sea-soaked    and   storm-tossed    and  drifting 
apart : 
Their  fair  timbers  battered,  their  lordly  sails  tat- 
tered, 
Their  skeleton  crew  of  dead  days  on  their  decks  ; 
Then  a  crash  of  chords  blending,  a  crisis,  an  end- 
ing— 
The  music  is  over,  and  vanished  the  wrecks. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        109 


THE     LADY    AND    THE     DAME, 

O  thou   hast   the   art,   good    dame,    thou 
swearest, 
To  keep  Time's  perishing  touch  at  bay 
From  the  roseate  splendor  of  the  cheek 
so  tender, 
And  the  silver  threads  from  the  gold  away; 
And  the  tell-tale  years  that  have  hurried 
by  us 
Shall  tiptoe  back,  and,  with  kind  good-will, 
They  shall  take  their  traces  from  off  our  faces, 
If  we  will  trust  to  thy  magic  skill. 

Thou  speakest  fairly  ;  but  if  I  listen 

And  buy  thy  secret  and  prove  its  truth, 
Hast  thou  the  potion  and  magic  lotion 

To  give  me  also  the  heart  of  youth  ? 
With  the  cheek  of  rose  and  the  eye  of  beauty, 

And  the  lustrous  locks  of  life's  lost  prime,  1 

Wilt  thou  bring  thronging  each  hope  and  longing 

That  made  the  glory  of  that  dead  Time  ? 

When  the  sap  in  the  trees  sets  young  buds  burst- 
ing, 

And  the  song  of  the  birds  fills  the  air  like  spray, 
Will  rivers  of  feeling  come  once  more  stealing 

From  the  beautiful  hills  of  the  far-away  ? 


no  HOW  SALVATOR    WON, 

Wilt  thou  demolish  the  tower  of  reason 
And  fling  forever  down  into  the  dust, 

The   caution  time    brought   me,    the   lessons   life 
taught  me, 
And  put  in  their  places  my  old  sweet  trust  ? 

If  Time's  footprint  from  my  brow  is  driven, 

Canst  thou,  too,  take  with  thy  subtle  powers 
The  burden  of  thinking,  and  let  me  go  drinking 

The  careless  pleasures  of  youth's  bright  hours  ? 
If  silver  threads  from  my  tresses  vanish, 

If  a  glow  once  more  in  my  pale  cheek  gleams, 
Wilt  thou  slay  duty  and  give  back  the  beauty 

Of  days  untroubled  by  aught  but  dreams? 

When  the  soft,  fair  arms  of  the  siren  Summer 

Encircle  the  earth  in  their  languorous  fold, 
Will  vast,  deep  oceans  of  sweet  emotions 

Surge  through  my  veins  as  they  surged  of  old  ? 
Canst  thou  bring  back  from  a  day  long  vanished 

The  leaping  pulse  and  the  boundless  aim  ? 
I  will  pay  thee  double  for  all  thy  trouble, 

If  thou  wilt  restore  all  these,  good  dame. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        n 


A  MARRIED  COQUETTE 

IT  still,  I  say,  and  dispense  with  heroics  ! 
I   hurt  your  wrists  ?     Well,  you  have 
hurt  me. 
It  is  time  you   found  out  that  all  men  are 
not  stoics, 
Nor  toys  to  be  used  as  your  mood  may  be. 
/  will  not  let  go  of  your  hands,  nor  leave  you 
Until  I  have  spoken.     No  man,  you  say, 
Dared  ever  so  treat  you  before  ?     I  believe  you, 
For  you  have  dealt  only  with  boys  till  to-day. 

You  women  lay  stress  on  your  fine  perception, 

Your  intuitions  are  prated  about ; 
You  claim  an  occult  sort  of  conception 

Of  matters  which  men  must  reason  out. 
So  then,  of  course,  when  you  asked  me  kindly 

"  To  call  again  soon,"  you  read  my  heart. 
I  cannot  beiieve  you  were  acting  blindly  ; 

You  saw  my  passion  for  you  from  the  start. 

You  are  one  of  those  women  who  charm  without 
trying  ; 

The  clay  you  are  made  of  is  magnet  ore, 
And  I  am  the  steel ;  yet,  there's  no  denying 

You  led  me  to  loving  you  more  and  more. 


ii2  HOW    S 'ALVA TOR    WON, 

You  are  fanning  a  flame  that  may  burn  too  brightly, 
Oft  easily  kindled,  but  hard  to  put  out ; 

I  am  not  a  man  to  be  played  with  lightly, 
To  come  at  a  gesture  and  go  at  a  pout. 

A  brute  you  call  me,  a  creature  inhuman ; 

You  say  I  insult  you,  and  bid  me  go. 
And  you  ?     Oh,  you  are  a  saintly  woman, 

With  thoughts  as  pure  as  the  drifted  snow. 
Pah  !  you  are  but  one  of  a  thousand  beauties 

Who  think  they  are  living  exemplary  lives. 
They  break  no  commandments,  and   do  all   their 
duties 

As  Christian  women  and  spotless  wives. 

But  with  drooping  of  lids,  and  lifting  of  faces, 

And  baring  of  shoulders,  and  well-timed  sighs, 
And  the  devil  knows  what  other  subtle  graces, 

You  are  mental  wantons,  who  sin  with  the  eyes. 
You  lure  love  to  wake,  yet  bid  it  keep  under, 

You  tempt  us  to  fall,  but  bid  reason  control  ; 
And  then  you  are  full  of  an  outraged  wonder 

When  we  get  to  wanting  you,  body  and  soul. 

Why,  look  at  yourself !     You  were  no  stranger 
To  the  fact  that  my  heart  was  already  on  fire. 

When  you  asked  me  to  call  you  knew  my  danger, 
Yet  here  you  are,  dressed  in  trie  gown  I  admi- 

For  half  of  the  evil  on  earth  is  invented 
By  vain,  pretty  women  with  nothing  to  d 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.         113 

But  to  keep  themselves  manicured,  powdered  and 
scented, 
And  seek  for  sensations  amusing  and  new. 

But  when  I  play  at  love  at  a  lady's  commanding, 

I  always  am  certain  to  win  one  game  ; 
So  there — there— there  !     I  will  leave  my  branding 
On  the   lips  that  are  free  now  to  cry  '•  Shame, 
shame  !" 
You  hate  me  ?     Quite  likely  !     It  does  not  surprise 
me. 
Brute    force  ?      I    confess    it  ;    but  still  you   were 
kissed  ; 
And  one  thing  is  certain — you  cannot  despise  me 
For  having   been   played   with,  controlled,   and 
dismissed. 

And  the  next  time  you  see  that  a  man  is  attracted 

By  the  beauty  and  graces  that  are  not  for  him, 
Don't  lead  him  on  to  be  half  distracted  ; 

Keep  out  of  deep  waters  although  you  can  swim. 
For  when  he  is  caught  in  the  whirlpool  of  passion, 

Where  many  bold  swimmers  are  seen  to  drown, 
A  man  will  reach  out  and,  in  desperate  fashion, 

Will  drag  whoever  is  nearest  him  down. 

Though  the  strings  of  his  heart  may  be  wrenched 
and  riven 

By  a  maiden  coquette  who  has  led  him  along, 
She  can  be  pardoned,  excused  and  forgiven, 

For  innocence  blindfolded  walks  into  wrong. 


j  i4  HOW    SALVATOR     WON, 

But  she  who  has  willingly  taken  the  fetter 
That  Cupid  forges  at  Hymen's  command — 

Well,  she  is  the  woman  who  ought  to  know  better; 
She  needs  no  mercy  at  any  man's  hand. 

In  the  game  of  hearts,  though  a  woman  be  winner, 

The  odds  are  ever  against  her,  you  know  ; 
The  world  is  ready  to  call  her  a  sinner, 

And  man  is  ready  to  make  her  so. 
Shame  is  likely,  and  sorrow  is  certain, 

And  the  man  has  the  best  of  it,  end  as  it  may. 
So  now,  my  lady,  we'll  drop  the  curtain, 

And  put  out  the  lights.      We  are  through  with 
our  play. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS. 


A    PLEA. 

^OLUMBIA,  large-hearted  and  tender, 
Too  long  for  the  good  of  your  kin 
You  have  shared  your  home's  comfort 
and  splendor 
With  all  who  have  asked  to  come  in. 
',      The  smile  of  your  true  eyes  has  lighted 
The  way  to  your  wide-open  door  ; 
You  have  held  out  full  hands  and  invited  • 

The  beggar  to  take  from  your  store. 

Your  overrun  proud  sister  nations, 

Whose  offspring  you  help  them  to  keep, 
Are  sending  their  poorest  relations — 

Their  unruly,  vicious  black  sheep. 
Unwashed  and  unlettered  you  take  them, 

And  lo  !  we  are  pushed  from  your  knee  ; 
We  are  governed  by  laws  as  they  make  the  v., 

We  are  slaves  in  the  land  of  the  free. 

Columbia,  you  know  the  devotion 

Of  those  who  have  sprung  from  your  ho:! 

Shall  aliens  born  over  the  ocean 
Dispute  us  the  fruits  of  our  toil  ? 


n6  HO W    SALVstTOR    WON, 


Most  noble  and  gracious  of  mothers, 
Your  children  rise  up  and  demand 

That  you  bring  us  no  more  foster-brothers 
To  breed  discontent  in  the  land. 

Be  prudent  before  you  are  zealous — 

Not  generous  only,  but  just ; 
Our  hearts  are  grown  wrathful  and  jealous 

Toward  those  who  have  outraged  your  trust 
They  jostle  and  crowd  in  our  places, 

They  sneer  at  the  comforts  you  gave  ; 
We  say,  shut  the  door  in  their  faces 

Until  they  have  learned  to  behave. 

In  hearts  that  are  greedy  and  hateful, 

TTiey  harbor  ill-will  and  deceit ; 
They  ask  for  more  favors,  ungrateful 

For  those  you  have  poured  at  their  feet. 
Rise  up  in  your  grandeur,  and  straightway 

Bar  out  the  bold,  clamoring  mass  ; 
Let  sentinels  stand  at  your  gateway, 

To  see  who  is  worthy  to  pass. 

Give  first  to  your  own  faithful  toilers 

The  freedom  our  birthright  should  claim, 
And  take  from  these  ruthless  despoilers 

The  power  which  they  use  to  our  shame. 
Columbia,  too  long  you  have  dallied 

With  foes  whom  you  feed  from  your  store  , 
It  is  time  that  your  wardens  were  rallied 

And  stationed  outside  the  locked  door. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        117 


THE   SUMMER   GIRL. 

ipl^j^HE'S  the  jauntiest  of  creatures,  she's  the 
daintiest  of  misses, 
With  her  pretty  patent  leathers   or  her 
alligator  ties, 
With  her  eyes  inviting  glances  and  her  lips 
inviting  kisses, 
As  she  wanders  by  the  ocean  or  strolls  under 
country  skies. 

She's  a  captivating  dresser,  and   her   parasols   are 
stunning, 
Her  fads  will  take  your  breath   away,   her   hats 
are  dreams  of  style  ; 
She  is  not  so  very  bookish,  but  with  repartee   and 
punning 
She  can  set  the  savants  laughing  and  make  even 
dudelets  smile. 

She  has  no  attacks  of  talent,  she  is    not    a   stage- 
struck  maiden  ; 
She  is  wholly  free  from  hobbies,  and  she  dreams 
of  no  "career  ;  " 


n8  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 

She  is  mostly  gay  and   happy,   never  sad   or  care- 
beladen, 
Though  she  sometimes  sighs  a  little  if  a  gentle- 
man is  near. 

She's    a    sturdy    little    walker   and  she  braves  all 
kinds  of  weather, 
And  when  the  rain   or  fog  or   mist    drive    rival 
crimps  a-wreck, 
Her  fluffy  hair  goes  curling  like  a  kinked-up  ostrich 
feather 
Around    her   ears  and  forehead   and    the  white 
nape  ©f  her  neck. 

She   is  like  a  fish  in  water  ;  she  can  handle  reins 
and  racket ; 
From  head  to  toe  and  finger-tips  she's  thoroughly 
alive  ; 
When  she  goes  promenading  in  a  most  distracting 
jacket, 
The    rustle    round  her  feet   suggests  how  laun- 
dresses may  thrive. 

She  can  dare  the  wind  and  sunshine  in   the  most 
bravado  manner, 
And  after  hours  of  sailing  she  has  merely  cheeks 
of  rose  ; 
Old   Sol  himself  seems  smitten  and  at  most  will 
only  tan  her, 
Though   to  everybody   else*  he  gives  a  danger- 
signal  nose. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        119 

She's  a  trifle  sentimental,  and  she's  fond   of  admi- 
ration, 
And  she  sometimes  flirts  a  little  in  the  season's 
giddy  whirl  ; 
But  win    her  if  you   can,  sir,  she  may  prove  your 
life's  salvation, 
For  an  angel  masquerading  oft  is  she,  the  sum 
mer  girl. 


i2o  HOW   S ALVA  TO  If  WON, 


THE  BEAUTIFUL  BLUE  DANUBE.' 


[With  "  Blue  Danube  Waltz  "as  musical  accompaniment.] 


HEY  drift  down  the  hall  together, 
He  smiles  in  her  lifted  eyes  ; 
Like  waves  of  that  mighty  river, 
The  strains  of  the  "  Danube  "  rise. 
They  float  on  its  rhythmic  measure, 
Like  leaves  on  a  summer  stream  ; 
And  here,  in  this  scene  of  pleasure, 
I  bury  my  sweet,  dead   dream. 

Through  the  cloud  of  her  dusky  tresses, 

Like  a  star  shines  out  her  face  ; 
And  the  form  his  strong  arm  presses, 

Is  sylph-like  in  its  grace. 
As  a  leaf  on  the  bounding  river 

Is  lost  on  the  seething  sea, 
I  know  that  forever  and  ever 

My  dream  is  lost  to  me. 

And  still  the  viols  are  playing 
That  grand  old  wordless  rhyme  ; 

And  still  those  two  are  swaying 
In  perfect  tune  and  time. 


AND    OTHER    RECI IATWNS         121 

If  the  great  bassoons  that  mutter, 

If  the  clarionets  that  blow, 
Were  given  a  voice  to  utter 

The  secret  things  they  know, 

Would  the  lists  of  the  slain  who  slumber 

On  the  Danube's  battle-plains 
The  unknown  hosts  outnumber 

Who  die,  'neath  the  "Danube's  "  strains 
Those  fall  where  cannons  rattle, 

'Mid  the  rain  of  shot  and  shell ; 
But  these,  in  a  fiercer  battle, 

Find  death  in  the  music's  swell. 

With  the  river's  roar  of  passion 

Is  blended  the  dying  groan  ; 
But  here,  in  the  halls  of  fashion, 

Hearts  break  and  make  no  moan. 
And  the  rnusic,  swelling  and  sweeping, 

Like  the  river,  knows  it  all ; 
But  none  are  counting  or  keeping 

The  lists  of  those  who  fall. 


122  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 


THE  BIRTH  OF  THE  OPAL. 

HE  Sunbeam  loved  the  Moonbeam, 
And  followed  her  low  and  high  ; 
But  the  Moonbeam  fled  and  hid  her  head- 
She  was  so  shy,  so  shy. 


The  Sunbeam  wooed  with  passion, 

Ah  !  he  was  a  lover  bold  ; 
And  his  heart  was  afire  with  mad  desire 

For  the  Moonbeam,  pale  and  cold. 

She  fled  like  a  dream  before  him, 
Her  hair  was  a  shining  sheen  ; 

And,  oh,  that  Fate  would  annihilate 
The  space  that  lay  between  ! 

Just  as  the  Day  lay  panting 

In  the  arms  of  the  Twilight  dim, 

The  Sunbeam  caught  the  one  he  sought 
And  drew  her  close  to  him. 

But  out  of  his  warm  arms  startled, 
And  stirred  by  love's  first  shock, 

She  sprang  afraid,  like  a  trembling  maid, 
And  hid  in  the  niche  of  a  rock.    . 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.         123 

And  the  Sunbeam  followed  and  found  her, 

And  led  her  to  love's  own  feast, 
And  they  were  wed  on  that  rocky  bed, 

And  the  dying  Day  was  their  priest. 

And,  lo  !  the  beautiful  Opal, 

That  rare  and  wondrous  gem, 
Where  the  Moon  and  Sun  blend  into  one. 

Is  the  child  that  was  born  to  them. 


HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


SOUNDS  FROM  THE  BASEBALL  FIELD. 

||ATTER  in  the  home  place, 
That  was  nobly  done  ; 
Try  and  get  the  first  base — 
Run!  Run!  RUN! 
Ah,  there,  short  stop,  will  you  miss  ? 
Hear  the  people  cheer  and  hiss, 

Hear  them  yell  and  shout. 
Twinkling  legs  and  flying  feet — 
(Oh,  I  wonder  who  will  beat  ! ) 

Faster,  faster,  out ! 
Umpire,  umpire,  go  along  ; 
That  was  wrong,  sir,  that  was  wrong. 

Pitcher  pitches,  four  balls, 

"Take  your  base,  my  man." 
Toward  the  second  now  he  crawls — 

"  Steal  it  if  you  can." 
Oh,  the  ball  has  gone  so  high, 
Can  they  catch  it  on  the  fly  ? 

Ah,  there  is  no  doubt, 
He  will  get  his  third,  I  vow — 
Pshaw  !  the  ball  has  got  there  now, 

"  Two  men  out  !  " 
Umpire,  umpire,  that  was  wrong; 
Go  along,  sir,  go  along. 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.  125 

One  man  on  the  first  base, 

Not  a  single  run. 
Boys  are  warming  to  the  race — 

Now  look  out  for  fun. 
Pitcher's  arm  maybe  is  tired; 
Batter  sudden  seems  inspired, 

Grounds  the  ball  to  win. 
Run  there,  run  there,  run  your  best, 
I  am  screaming  with  the  rest 

"  Two  men  in!" 
Umpire,  umpire,  go  away; 
Dead  wrong,  dead  wrong,  sir,  I  say. 

What's  the  matter  now,  pray? 

Taking  breath,  that's  all; 
But  the  restless  people  say 

"  Play  ball,  play  ball." 
One  ball,  two  strikes,  two  balls — M  Foul.' 
Umpire  calls,  and  people  howl: 

"  What  is  he  about?" 
Run,  run,  run,  run,  Run,  Run,  RUN! 
Half  the  inning  now  is  done, 

M  Three  men  out!" 
Umpire,  umpire,  go  along; 
You  are  always,  always  wrong. 


126  HO  IV    S ALVA  TOR    WONt 


A  WALTZ-QUADRILLE. 


[With  Musical  Accompaniment.] 


HE  band  was  playing  a  waltz-quadrille; 
I  felt  as  light  as  a  wind-blown  feather 
As  we  floated  away  at  the  caller's  will 
Through  the  intricate,  mazy  dance  to- 
gether. 
Like  mimic  armies  our  lines  were  meeting, 
Slowly  advancing,  and  then  retreating 

All  decked  in  their  bright  array; 
And  back  and  forth  to  the  music's  rhyme 
We  moved  together,  and  all  the  time 
I  knew  you  were  going  away. 

The  fold  of  your  strong  arm  sent  a  thrill 

From  heart  to  brain  as  we  gently  glided, 
Like  leaves,  on  the  wave  of  that  waltz-quadrille, 
Parted,  met,  and  again  divided — 
"You  drifting  one  way,  and  I  another; 
Then  suddenly  turning  and  facing  each  other; 

Then  off  in  the  blithe  chassee; 
Then  airily  back  to  our  places  swaying, 
While  every  beat  of  the  music  seemed  saying 
That  you  were  going  away. 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.  127 

I  said  to  my  heart:   "  Let  us  take  our  fill 

Of  mirth,  and  music,  and  love,  and  laughter; 
For  it  all  must  end  with  this  waltz-quadrille, 
And  life  will  be  never  the  same  life  after. 
Oh,  that  the  caller  might  go  on  calling, 
Oh,  that  the  music  might  go  on  falling 

Like  a  shower  of  silver  spray, 
While  we  whirled  on  to  the  vast  Forever, 
Where  no  heart  breaks,  and  no  ties  sever, 
And  no  one  goes  away." 

» 
A  clamor,  a  crash,  and  the  band  was  still1 — 
'Twas  the  end  of  the  dream,  and  the  end  of  the 
measure; 
The  last  low  notes  of  that  waltz-quadrille, 
Seemed  like  a  dirge  o'er  the  death  of  Pleasure. 
You  said  good-night,  and  the  spell  was  over  — 
Too  warm  for  a  friend,  and  too  cold  for  a 
lover — 
There  was  nothing  else  to  say; 
But  the  lights  looked  dim,  and  the  dancers 

weary, 
And  the  music  was  sad,  and  the  hall  was 
dreary, 
After  you  went  away. 


28  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


ANSWERED. 

OOD-BYE — yes,  I  am  going. 

Sudden  ?  Well,  you  are  right : 
But  a  startling  truth  came  home  to  me 

With  sudden  force  last  night. 
What  is  it  ?    Shall  I  tell  you— 
Nay,  that  is  why  I  go  ; 
I  am  running  away  from  the  battle-field, 
Turning  my  back  on  the  foe. 

Riddles  ?    You  think  me  cruel  J 

Have  you  not  been  most  kind  ? 
Why,  when  you  question  me  like  that 

What  answer  can  I  find? 
You  fear  you  failed  to  amuse  me, 

Your  husband's  friend  and  guest. 
Whom  he  bade  you  entertain  and  please 

Well,  you  have  done  your  best. 

Then  why  am  I  going  ?     Listen  : 

A  friend  of  mine  abroad, 
Whose  theories  I  have  been  acting  updn. 

Has  proven  himself  a  fraud. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        129 

You  have  heard  me  quote  from  Plato 

A  thousand  times,  no  doubt  ; 
Well,  I  have  discovered  he  did  not  know 

What  he  was  talking  about. 

You  think  I  am  speaking  strangely? 

You  cannot  understand  ? 
Well,  let  me  look  down  into  your  eyes, 

And  let  me  hold  your  hand. 
I  am  running  away  from  danger — 

I  am  flying  before  I  fall ; 
I  am  going  because  with  heart  and  soul 

I  love  you — that  is  all. 
There,  now,  you  are  white  with  anger ; 
•  I  knew  it  would  be  so. 
You  should  not  question  a  man  too  close 

When  he  tells  you  he  must  go. 


i3o  HOW    SALVATOR    WON, 


THE  SIGN-BOARD. 

WILL  paint  you  a  sign,  rumseller, 

And  hang  it  above  your  door  ; 
A  truer  and  better  signboard 
Than  ever  you  had  before. 
I  will  paint  with  the  skill  of  a  master, 

And  many  shall  pause  to  see 
This  wonderful  piece  of  painting, 
So  like  the  reality. 


I  will  paint  yourself,  rumseller, 

As  you  wait  for  that  fair  young  boy, 
Just  in  the  morning  of  manhood, 

A  mother's  pride  and  joy. 
He  has  no  thought  of  stopping, 

But  you  greet  him  with  a  smile, 
And  you  seem  so  blithe  and  friendly, 

That  he  pauses  to  chat  awhile. 

I  will  paint  you  again,  rumseller,* 
I  will  paint  you  as  you  stand, 

With  a  foaming  glass  of  liquor 
Extended  in  your  hand. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        131 

He  wavers,  but  you  urge  him — 

Drink,  pledge  me  just  this  one  ! 
And  he  takes  the  glass  and  drains  it, 

And  the  hellish  work  is  done. 

And  next  I  will  paint  a  drunkard — 

Only  a  year  has  flown, 
But  into  that  loathsome  creature 

The  fair  young  boy  has  grown. 
The  work  was  sure  and  rapid. 

I  will  paint  him  as  he  lies 
In  a  torpid,  drunken  slumber, 

Under  the  wintry  skies. 

I  will  paint  the  form  of  the  mother 

As  she  kneels  at  her  darling's  side, 
Her  beautiful  boy  that  was  dearer 

Than  all  the  world  beside. 
I  will  paint  the  shape  of  a  coffin, 

Labeled  with  one  word — "  lost," 
I  will  paint  all  this,  rumseller, 

And  will  paint  it  free  of  cost. 

The  sin  and  the  shame  and  the  sorrow, 

The  crime  and  the  want  and  the  woe 
That  are  born  there  in  your  workshop, 

No  hand  can  paint,  you  know. 
But  Fll  paint  you  a  sign,  rumseller, 

And  many  shall  pause  to  view 
This  wonderful  swinging  signboard, 

So  terribly,  fearfully  true. 


i32  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 

ABOUT  MAY. 

|NE  night  Nurse  Sleep  held  out  her  hand 
To  tired  little  May. 
"  Come,  go  with  me  to  Wonderland," 
She  said,  "  I  know  the  way. 
Just  rock-a-by — hum — m — m, 
And  lo  !  we  come 
To  the  place  where  the  dream-girls  play." 

But  naughty  May,  she  wriggled  away 

From  Sleep's  soft  arms,  and  said  : 
;  I  must  stay  awake  till  I  eat  my  cake, 
And  then  I  will  go  to  bed  ; 

With  a  by-lo,  away  I  will  go." 

But  the  good  nurse  shook  her  head. 

She  shook  her  head  and  away  she  sped, 
While  May  sat  munching  her  crumb. 

But  after  the  cake  there  came  an  ache, 
Though  May  cried  :  "  Come,  Sleep,  come, 

And  it's  oh  !  my  !  let  us  by-lo-by  " — 
All  save  the  echoes  were  dumb. 

She  ran  after  Sleep  toward  Wonderland, 

Ran  till  the  morning  light ; 
And  just  as  she  caught  her  and  grasped  her 
hand, 

A  nightmare  gave  her  a  fright. 
And  it's  by-lo,  I  hope  she'll  know 

Better  another  night. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        133 


THE  GIDDY  GIRL. 


[This  recitation  is  intended  to  be  given  with  an  accom- 
paniment of  waltz  music,  introducing  dance-steps  at  the 
refrain:  "With  one,  two,  three,"  etc.] 


I 

Lr  GIDDY  young  maiden  with  nimble  feet, 
Heigh-ho  !  alack  and  alas  ! 
Declared  she  would  far  rather  dance  than 
eat, 
And  the  truth  of  it  came  to  pass. 
For  she  danced  all  day  and  she  danced   all 
night  ; 
She  danced  till  the  green  earth  faded  white  ; 
She  danced  ten  partners  out  of  breath  ; 
She  danced  the  eleventh  one  quite  to  death  ; 
And  still  she  redowaed  up  and  down — 
The  giddiest  girl  in  town. 
With  one,  two,  three  ;    one,  two,  three  ;  one,  two, 

three — kick  ; 
Chassee  back,  chassee  back,  whirl  around  quick. 

The  name  of  this  damsel  ended  with  E — 

Heigh-ho  !  alack  and  a-day  ! 
And  she  was  as  fair  as  a  maiden  need  be, 

Till  she  danced  her  beauty  away. 


i34  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

She  danced  her  big  toes  out  of  joint ; 

She  danced  her  other  toes  all  to  a  point ; 

She  danced  out  slipper  and  boot  and  shoe  ; 

She  danced  till  the  bones  of  her  feet  came  through. 

And  still  she  redowaed,  waltzed  and*  whirled — 

The  giddiest  girl  in  the  world. 

With  one,  two,  three  ;  one,  two,  three  ;  one,  two, 

three — kick  ; 
Chassee  back,  chassee  back,  whirl  around  quick. 

Now  the  end  of  my  story  is  sad  to  relate — 

Heigh-ho  !  and  away  we  go  ! 
For  this  beautiful  maiden's  final  fate 

Is  shrouded  in  gloom  and  woe. 
She  danced  herself  into  a  patent  top  ; 
She  whirled  and  whirled  till  she  could  not  stop  ; 
She  danced  and  bounded  and  sprang  so  far, 
That  she  stuck  at  last  on  a  pointed  star  ; 
And  there  she  must  dance  till  the  Judgment  Day, 
And  after  it,  too,  for  she  danced  away 
Her  soul,  you  see,  so  she  has  no  place  anywhere 

out  of  space, 
With  her  one,  two,  three  ;  one,  two,  three  ;  one,  two, 

three — kick  ; 
Chassee  back,  chassee  back,  whirl  about  quick. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS. 


35 


DELL  AND  I. 


'N  a  mansion  grand,  just  over  the  way, 
Lives  bonny,  beautiful  Dell ; 
You  may  have  heard  of  this  lady  gay, 
For  she  is  a  famous  belle. 
I  live  in  a  low  cot  opposite, 

You  never  have  heard  of  me  ; 
For  when  the  lady  moon  shines  bright, 
Who  would  a  pale  star  see  ? 
But  ah,  well,  ah,  well  !    I  am  happier  far  than  Dell, 
As  strange  as  that  may  be. 


Dell  has  robes  of  the  richest  kind — 

Pinks  and  purples  and  blues. 
And  she  worries  her  maid  and  frets  her  mind 

To  know  which  one  to  choose. 
Which  shall  it  be  now,  silk  or  lace  ? 

In  which  will  I  be  most  fair  ? 
She  stands  by  the  mirror  with  anxious  face, 

And  her  maid  looks  on  in  despair. 
Ah,  well,  ah,  well !    I  am  not  worried,  you  see,  like 
Dell, 

For  I  have  but  one  to  wear. 


r36  HOW    SALVATOR    WON, 

Dell  has  lovers  of  every  grade, 

Of  every  age  and  style  ; 
Suitors  flutter  about  the  maid, 

And  bask  in  her  word  and  smile. 
She  keeps  them  all,  with  a  coquette's  art, 

As  suits  her  mood  or  mirth, 
And  vainly  wonders  if  in  one  heart 

Of  all  true  love  has  birth. 
Ah,  well,  ah,  well !      I   never   question   mvself  like 
Dell, 

For  I  know  a  true  heart's  worth. 

Pleasure  to  Dell  seems  stale  and  old., 

Often  she  sits  and  sighs  ; 
Life  to  me  is  a  tale  untold, 

Each  day  is  a  glad  surprise. 
Dell  will  marry,  of  course,  some  day 

After  her  belleship  is  run  ; 
She  will  cavil  the  matter  in  worldly  way 

And  wed  Dame  Fortune's  son. 
But,  ah,  well,  sweet  to  tell,  I  shall  not  dally  and 
choose  like  Deli, 

For  I  love  and  am  loved  by — one. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        137 


VANITY   FAIR. 

N  Vanity  Fair,  as  we  bow  and  smile, 

As   we   talk   of    the   opera   after   the 
weather, 
'As  we  chat  of  fashion  and  fad  and  style, 

We  know  we  are  playing  a  part  together. 
You  know  that  the  mirth   she  wears,   she 
borrows  ; 
She  knows  you  laugh  but  to  hide  your  sorrows  ; 
We  know  that  under  the  silks  and  laces, 
And  back  of  beautiful,  beaming  faces, 
Lie  secret  trouble  and  grim  despair, 
In  Vanity  Fair. 

In  Vanity  Fair,  on  dress  parade, 

Our  colors  look  bright  and  our  swords  are  gleam- 
ing ; 
But  many  a  uniform's  worn  and  frayed, 

And  most  of  the  weapons,  despite  their  seeming. 
Are  dull  and  blunted  and   badly  battered, 
And  close  inspection  will  show  how  tattered 
And  stained  are  the  banners  that  float  above  us. 
Our  comrades  hate,  while  they  swear  to  love  us  ; 
And  robed  like  Pleasure  walks  gaunt-eyed  Care. 
In  Vanity   Fair. 


138  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

In  Vanity  Fair,  as  we  strive  for  place, 

As  we  rush  and  jostle  and  crowd  and  hurry, 

We  know  the  goal  is  not  worth  the  race — 
We  know  the  prize  is  not  worth  the  worry ; 

That  all  our  gain  means  loss  for  another  ; 

That  in  fighting  for  self  we  wound  each  other  ; 

That  the  crown  of  success  weighs  hard  and  pressei 

The  brow  of  the  victor  with  thorns — not  caresses  ; 

That  honors  are  empty  and  worthless  to  wear, 
In  Vanity  Fair. 

But  in  Vanity  Fair,  as  we  pass  along, 

We  meet  strong  hearts  that  are  worth  the  know- 
ing ; 
'Mong  poor  paste  jewels  that  deck  the  throng, 

We  see  a  solitaire  sometimes  glowing. 
We  find  grand  souls  under  robes  of  fashion, 
'Neath  light  demeanors  hide  strength  and  passion  ; 
And  fair  fine  honor  and  Godlike  resistance, 
In  halls  of  pleasure  may  have  existence  ; 
And  we  find  pure  altars  and  shrines  of  prayer, 
In  Vanity  Fair. 


®*®»$® 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.  139 


A  GIRL'S  AUTUMN  REVERIE. 

E  plucked  a  red  rose,  you  and  I 
All  in  the  summer  weather; 
Sweet  its  perfume  and  rare  its  bloom, 
Enjoyed  by  us  together. 
The  rose  is  dead,  the  summer  fled, 
And  bleak  winds  are  complaining; 
We  dwell  apart,  but  in  each  heart 
We  find  the  thorn  remaining. 

We  sipped  a  sweet  wine,  you  and  I, 

All  in  the  summer  weather. 
The  beaded  draught  we  lightly  quaffed, 

And  filled  the  glass  together. 
Together  we  watched  its  rosy  glow, 

And  saw  its  bubbles  glitter; 
Apart,  alone,  we  only  know 

The  lees  are  very  bitter. 

We  walked  in  sunshine,  you  and  I, 

All  in  the  summer  weather. 
The  very  night  seemed  noonday  bright. 

When  we  two  were  together. 


i4o  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WONy 

I  wonder  why  with  our  good-by 

O'er  hill  and  vale  and  meadow 
There  fell  such  shade,  our  paths  seemed  laid 

Forevermore  in  shadow. 

We  dreamed  a  sweet  dream,  you  and  I, 

All  in  the  summer  weather, 
Where  rose  and  wine  and  warm  sunshine 

Were  mingled  in  together. 
We  dreamed  that  June  was  with  us  yet, 

We  woke  to  find  December. 
We  dreamed  that  we  two  could  forget, 

We  woke  but  to  remember. 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.         141 


GETHSEMANE. 

N  golden  youth,  when  seems  the  earth 
A  summer  land  of  singing  mirth, 
When  souls  are  glad  and  hearts  are  light 
And  not  a  shadow  lurks  in  sight, 
We  do  not  know  it,  but  there  lies, 
Somewhere  veiled  under  evening  skies 
A  garden  all  must  sometime  see — 
The  garden  of  Gethsemane. 

With  joyous  steps  we  go  our  ways; 
Love  lends  a  halo  to  our  days, 
Light  sorrows  sail  like  clouds  afar. 
We  laugh  and  say  how  strong  we  are! 
We  hurry  on,  and,  hurrying  go 
Close  to  the  borderland  of  woe  J 

That  waits  for  you,  and  waits  for  me, 
Forever  waits — Gethsemane. 

Down  shadowy  lanes,  across  strange  streams, 
Bridged  over  by  our  broken  dreams, 
Behind  the  misty  caps  of  years, 
Beyond  the  great  salt  fount  of  tears 


i4  2  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

The  garden  lies.     Strive  as  you  may, 
You  cannot  miss  it  in  your  way. 
All  paths  that  have  been  or  may  be, 
Pass  somewhere  through  Gethsemane. 

All  those  who  journey,  soon  or  late, 
Must  pass  within  the  garden's  gate; 
Must  kneel  alone  in  darkness  there, 
And  battle  with  some  fierce  despair. 
God  pity  those  who  cannot  say 
"  Not  mine  but  Thine:"  who  only  pray 
"Let  this  cup  pass,"  and  cannot  see 
His  purpose  in  Gethsemane. 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        143 


THE  COMING  MAN. 

£H,  not  for  the  great  departed, 

Who  formed  our  country's  laws, 
And  not  for  the  bravest-hearted 
f  Who  died  in  freedom's  cause, 

And  not  for  some  living  hero 
To  whom  all  bend  the  knee, 
My  muse  would  raise  her  song  of  praise — 
But  for  the  man  to  be. 

For  out  of  the  strife  which  woman 

Is  passing  through  to-day, 
A  man  that  is  more  than  human 

Shall  yet  be  born,  I  say. 
A  man  in  whose  pure  spirit 

No  dross  of  self  will  lurk; 
A  man  who  is  strong  to  cope  with  wrong, 

A  man  who  is  proud  to  work. 

A  man  with  hope  undaunted, 

A  man  with  godlike  power, 
Shall  come  when  he  most  is  wanted, 

Shall  come  at  the  needed  hour. 


i44  HO  IV    SAL  V A  TOE     WON", 

He  shall  silence  the  din  and  clamor 

Of  clan  disputing  with  clan, 
And  toil's  long  fight  with  purse-proud  might 

Shall  triumph  through  this  man. 

I  know  he  is  coming,  coming, 

To  help,  to  guide,  to  save. 
Though  I  hear  no  martial  drumming, 

And  see  no  flags  that  wave. 
But  the  great  soul  travail  of  woman, 

And  the  bold  free  thought  unfurled, 
Are  heralds  that  say  he  is  on  the  way — 

The  coming  man  of  the  world. 

Mourn  not  for  vanished  ages 

With  their  great  heroic  men, 
Who  dwell  in  history's  pages 

And  live  in  the  poet's  pen. 
For  the  grandest  times  are  before  us, 

And  the  world  is  yet  to  see 
The  noblest  worth  of  this  old  earth 

In  the  men  that  are  to  be. 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.         145 


A  MAN'S   REPENTANCE. 


[Intended  for  recitation  at  clnb  dinners.] 


"gfeVa 


O-NIGHT  when  I  came  from  the  club  at 
eleven, 
Under  the  gaslight  I  saw  a  face  — 
A  woman's  face!  and  I  swear  to  heaven 
It  looked  like  the  ghastly  ghost  of  — 
Grace! 


And  Grace?  why,  Grace  was  fair;  and  I  tarried, 
And  loved  her  a  season  as  we  men  do. 

And  then  —  but  pshaw!   why,  of   course,  she  is 
married, 
Has  a  husband, %and  doubtless,  a  babe  or  two. 

She  was  perfectly  calm  on  the  day  we  parted; 

She  spared  me  a  scene,  to  my  great  surprise. 
She  wasn't  the  kind  to  be  broken-hearted, 

I  remember  she  said,  with  a  spark  in  her  eyes. 

I  was  tempted,  I  know,  by  her  proud  defiance, 
To  make  good  my  promises  there  and  then. 

But  the  world  would  have  called  it  a  mesalliance! 
I  dreaded  the  comments  and  sneers  of  men. 

So  I  left  her  to  grieve  for  a  faithless  lover, 

And  to  hide  her  heart  from  the  cold  world's 

10     sisht 


146  HOW    S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

As  women  do  hide  them,  the  wide  earth  over; 
My  God  !  .was  it  Grace  that  I  saw  to-night? 

I  thought  of  her  married,  and  often  with  pity, 
A  poor  man's  wife  in  some  dull  place. 

And  now  to  know  she  is  here  in  the  city, 
Under  the  gaslight,  and  with  that  face  ! 

Yet  I  knew  it  at  once,  in  spite  of  the  daubing 
Of  paint  and  powder,  and  she  knew  me; 

She  drew  a  quick  breath  that  was  almost  sobbing, 
And  shrank  in  the  shade  so  I  should  not  see. 

There  was  hell  in  her  eyes  !  She  was  worn  and 
jaded; 

Her  soul  is  at  war  with  the  life  she  has  led. 
As  I  looked  on  that  face  so  strangely  faded, 

I  wonder  God  did  not  strike  me  dead. 

While  I  have  been  happy  and  gay  and  jolly, 
Received  by  the  very  best  people  in  town, 

That  girl  whom  I  led  in  the  way  to  folly, 
Has  gone  on  recklessly  down  and  down. 


Two  o'clock,  and  no  sleep  has  found  me. 

That  face  I  saw  in  the  street-lamp's  light 
Peers  everywhere  out  from  the  shadows  around 
me — 

I  know  how  a  murderer  feels' to-night ! 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.  147 


DICK'S  FAMILY. 

HEN  Dick,  the  little  deformed  invalio, 
hobbled  from  his  bed  into  his  chair- 
lounge  at  the  window,  where  he  reclined 
all  day  long,  he   saw  a  rosy-cheeked 
young    woman    polishing     the    windows 
across  the  street. 

His  pale  face  tinged  with  a  sudden  glow, 
and  his  painfully  brilliant  eyes  shone  with  an  in- 
creased lustre. 

11  Well,  I  declare  if  my  house  isn't  occupied!  "  he 
cried,  and  he  lifted  the  window  and  peered  across 
the  way  with  such  an  excited  countenance,  that  the 
young  woman  opposite  paused  in  her  work  to  re- 
gard him.  But  after  a  moment's  observation  the 
startled  look  in  her  face  gave  place  to  pity,  for  she 
saw  that  the  great  shining  eyes  were  those  of  an 
invalid — an  invalid  child,  she  thought. 

11  Poor  child;  poor  little  fellow,"  she  said  to  her- 
self, "  and  such  a  pretty  face,  too!  " 

But  Dick  was  twenty-two  years  old,  with  a  man's 


i48  HOW   S •ALVA TOR    WON, 

heart  and  a  man's  longings  shut  up  in  his  deformed 
body.  But  since  he  was  compelled  to  pass  his  days 
between  a  bed  and  a  chair,  with  an  occasional  hour 
down  on  the  curbing  in  the  sunlight  of  a  warm  day, 
he  found  his  whole  enjoyment  in  his  imagination. 
And  wonderful  flights  it  took,  flights  and  freaks 
suspected  by  no  one  save  good  old  Dr.  Griffin,  his 
one  confidant. 

He  had  known  Dick  ever  since  his  advent  into  his 
life  of  misery.  Dick's  mother  had  been  the  beauty 
of  the  street  more  than  a  score  of  years  ago.  Old 
Benjamin  Levy,  her  father,  was  a  hard  man,  and  to 
escape  the  barren  home  and  dreary  life,  pretty  Josie 
eloped  with  a  handsome  Christian  whom  she  had 
met  while  promenading  on  the  street.  Her  father 
had  uttered  a  terrible  curse  when  the  knowledge 
of  her  flight  came  to  him  ;  and  scarce  two  years 
later  the  curse  had  fallen,  for  pretty  Josie  came 
home  to  die,  and  to  leave  her  invalid  baby  as  the 
constant  reminder  of  the  fulfilment  of  his  curse,  to 
her  father. 

Dr.  Griffin  had  been  retained  during  all  these 
years  as  Dick's  physician  ;  for  the  one  thing  in 
which  old  Benjamin  showed  no  parsimony  was  in 
the  care  of  this  little  deformed  grandchild.  A  little 
shop  where  he  sold  second-hand  clothing,  and  a 
c6uple  of  small  rooms  above  it,  for  living  purposes 
constituted  his  manage. 

Directly  opposite  was  a  three-story  and  base- 
ment brick  house,  which  had  in  its  day  been  a 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.         149 


semi-fashionable  private  residence.  But  as  trade 
encroached  upon  the  street,  this  building  had  de- 
generated to  an  apartment  house. 

While  the  house  stood  tenantless,  Dick  amused 
himself  by  imagining  that  it  was  his  own  residence. 
"  It  is  my  house,"  he  would  say, "  and  I  am  trav- 
eling abroad,  and  it  is  closed.  By  and  by  1  shall 
come  home,  and  there  will  be  a  great, house-warm- 
in',  and  lights  in  every  window  and  flower-pots  on 
the  sills,  and  pretty  curtains  and  life  and  fun;  for 
I  am  a  very  rich  young  man  with  lots  of  money, 
and  I  always  have  everything  very  gay  around 
me." 

Dr.  Griffin  used  to  encourage  the  boy  in  his  fan- 
cies, thinking  they  relieved  the  monotony  of  his 
dreary  life.  "  Well,  I  see  you  are  still  traveling 
abroad,  Dick,"  he  used  to  say.  "  That  house  of 
yours  is  still  closed.  No  idea  when  you  will 
return,  have  you?" 

11  No,  I'm  havin*  too  good  a  time  to  come  back 
yet  awhile,"  Dick  would  answer.  "  Haven't  half 
seen  the  world  yet." 

But  one  day  there  were  people  moving  about  on 
the  ground  floor  of  the  house,  and  Dick  heard  his 
grandfather  say  it  was  to  be  made  into  flats,  and 
let  to  separate  families. 

The  next  time  Dr.  Griffin  called,  he  greeted  the 
boy  with — 

"  Hello!  Dick,  welcome  home!  I  see  you  have 
returned  from  abroad." 


i5o  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 

Dick  shook  his  head  soberly.  "  Oh,  no  !  "  he 
replied,  "  I  am  not  back  yet.  But  I  got  tired  of  hav- 
in'  my  house  stay  empty  —  thought  I  might  as 
well  let  it  help  pay  my  expenses  (it's  awful  expen- 
sive travelin',  you  know),  so  I've  got  some  tenants  in 
the  house.  Goin'  to  let  each  floor  separate,  'cause 
it  is  too  expensive  a  house  for  anybody  to  take 
whole,  'cept  some  rich  feller  like  me." 

During  the  last  six  months  the  floor  exactly  op- 
posite Dick's  window  had  been  vacant.  After  three 
months  had  passed  without  a  tenant,  he  told  Dr. 
Griffin  that  he  had  decided  to  reserve  that  floor  for 
his  own  use. 

"I'm  goin'  to  come  home  pretty  soon  and  settle 
down,  you  see,"  he  said,  "  and  so  I  thought  I'd 
keep  that  floor  for  myself.  I  don't  need  the  whole 
house,  and  I  can  just  as  well  let  the  other  tenants 
stay." 

And  now,  after  three  months  more  had  passed, 
here  were  people  moving  into  his  apartments  ! 

Dr.  Griffin  called  that  very  afternoon,  and  found 
Dick  looking  unusually  animated. 

"  Well,  well,  Dick  !  "  he  exclaimed.  "  So,  after 
all  you've  decided  to  rent  your  apartments  ?  You 
have  neighbors,  I  see.  I  fear  you  will  never  returr 
now  and  settle  down  as  you  intended." 

"  Why,  that's  no  neighbors,  Doctor,"  replied 
Dick,  contemptuously  ;  "  that's  my  family.  Ive 
come  home  to  stay,  and  brought  my  famiiy,  you 
see." 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.         151 

"You  don't  tell  me  so!  Why,  what  a  stupid  old 
fellow  I  am,  to  be  sure!"  cried  the  Doctor,  with 
feigned  self-scorn.  "  How  large  a  family  have  you, 
Dick?" 

"  Well  only — only  one,  as  I  care  'specially  about. 
Look — look  at  her,  Doctor! "  catching  the  Doctor's 
hand  and  leaning  forward  in  his  chair.  "See  het 
a-fixin'  the  nice  little  curtain  at  the  window?  She's 
a  regular  neat  one,  she  is,  my  little  woman  ovei 
there.  She  was  a-cleanin'  the  windows  and  things, 
this  mornin'  with  her  hair  so  slick  and  a  span  clean 
apron  on.  That's  the  kind  of  girl  I  like.  I  aliens 
liked  that  kind.  Isn't  she  the  right  kind,  eh,  Doc 
tor?" 

Dr.  Griffin  saw  a  trim  young  woman  with  rosy 
cheeks,  looping  back  scrim  curtains  with  pink  rib- 
bons.    He  nodded  gravely. 

"  From  my  brief  acquaintance,  I  should  say  $hr 
was,"  he  answered.  "  I  congratulate  you  on  your 
good  luck.  With  such  a  family  as  that  you  ought 
to  be  a  happy  fellow!  " 

"Queer  little  fellow;  queer  little  fellow,"  he  said 
to  himself,  as  he  went  down  the  stairs.  "Strange 
notion  that  about  his  home  and  family." 

When  Dick  awoke  the  following  day  he  felt  a 
new  sense  of  happiness  in  the  thought  of  his  neigh- 
bor opposite.  He  hurried  through  his  tedious  cer- 
emony o£  dressing,  ate  his  frugal  breakfast,  hob- 
bled into  his  invalid-chair,  and  gave  an  eager 
glance  across  the  street.  Yes,  there  were  the  dainty 


152  HOW   SALVATOR    WONy 

curtains  still  at  the  window,  so  it  was  no  dream. 
He  watched  for  a  glimpse  of  the  occupant,  but  she 
did  not  appear.  Then  he  laughed  a  little  softly 
to  himself. 

"  Of  course,  she  wouldn't  be  hangin'  around  the 
window  at  all  hours;  she  isn't  that  sort;  and,  of 
course,  I'm  over  there  now,  and  she's  a-pourin' 
coffee  for  me;  we  take  breakfast  sort  of  late  to- 
day, 'cause  we're  just  home  from  Europe,  and  I 
haven't  gone  down  to  the  office  yet.  After  I  get 
off  she'll  brush  around  and  set  things  to  right,  and 
— hello !  I  must  have  gone  now  you  know,  for  there 
she  is  a-whiskin'  the  dust  off  the  window-sill  as 
pretty  as  ever  and  as  neat  as  a  pin.  All  the  time 
I'm  down  at  the  office  with  them  pesky  clerks  of 
mine  a-botherin'  me  I'll  be  thinkin'  of  that  sweet 
little  woman  up  here  waitin'  for  me." 

"We  do  have  very  sociable  times,"  Dick  told  the 
Doctor  a  month  later.  "  That  little  woman  and  I 
seem  made  for  each  other.  She's  just  the  right 
sort.  We  never  have  no  fusses,  and  things  go  so 
comfortable-like  all  the  time." 

"And  how  do  you  like  the  other  party?  There's 
a  man  there  also,  I  see.     How  do  you  like  him?" 

Dick  flushed  painfully,  and  a  deep  frown  settled 
on  his  face.  There  was  a  man  whom  he  saw  from 
time  to  time  sitting  at  the  window  after  the  dinner 
hour  reading  his  paper.  But  the  moment  he  made 
his  appearance,  Dick  closed  his  eyes  or  left  the 
-"indow  seat.     He  regarded  the  man  as  an  intruder 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.         153 

— a  shadow  upon  his  home  life,  a  serpent  in  his 
Eden. 

Sunday  was  a  day  of  restlessness  and  discontent, 
because  the  man  was  there  all  day  long,  and  on 
Sundays  he  avoided  the  invalid-chair,  which  was 
his  seat  on  all  other  days.  Now,  when  he  heard 
Dr.  Griffin  speak  of  the  man  as  a  real  being,  he  suf- 
fered all  the  bitter  and  mortifying  pangs  of  jeal- 
ousy which  might  come  to  a  man  who  hears  a 
stranger  give  words  to  a  suspicion  of  his  wife's  dis- 
loyalty to  which  he  has  striven  to  blind  himself. 

"  A  man — a — yes — there's  a  man  there  some- 
times," Dick  stammered;  "he's  a — a  sort  of  poor 
relative,  don't  you  know.  One  of  my  relations,  you 
see,  and  I  can't  very  well  turn  him  off." 

"Oh,  I  see,"  answered  the  doctor,  noticing 
Dick's  confusion,  and  hastening  to  help  him  out. 
"Well,  everybody  has  some  one  of  that  sort.  I've 
half  a  dozen  poor  relatives  who  live  on  me.  Some 
one  of  them  is  with  us  most  of  the  time.  A  little  un- 
comfortable occasionally  may  be,  because  every 
man's  house  is  his  castle  where  he  wants  to  be 
alone  at  times.  But  we  who  have  homes  have  no 
right  to  be  selfish;  we  must  share  them  with  less 
fortunate  people.  Happiness  must  not  make  us 
selfish. 

Dick's  face  brightened.  His  heart  had  grown 
light  and  happy  while  the  Doctor  spoke. 

"That's  just  what  I  tell  myself  and  the  little 
woman,"  he  said.   "Often  she  doesn't  like  to  have 


154  HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 

the  fellow  droppin'  in  and  spoilin'  our  chats " 
(Dick  felt  an  immense  satisfaction  in  saying  this), 
"but  I  tell  her  with  just  our  two  selves  we'd  get 
selfish  with  happiness  unless  we  had  somethin'  to 
do  for  another.  But  he  does  break  up  our  Sundays 
awfully — scarcely  can  get  a  word  alone,  that  fel- 
low's pokin'  around  so." 

"  Oh,  well,  you  can  afford  him  one  day  in  the 
week,  and  I  wouldn't  let  him  bother  me  ;  just  be 
as  happy  as  if  he  wasn't  around." 

Somehow  Dick  felt  much  better  after  this  talk. 
He  had  tried  to  ignore  the  presence  of  the  man  op- 
posite, but  now  he  could  acknowledge  it,  and  defi- 
nitely locate  the  man  in  his  thought  as  a  poor 
dependent,  who  was  benefitted  by  his  bounty.  He 
enjoyed  thinking  that  the  little  woman  objected 
more  or  less  to  the  fellow,  and  that  she  allowed 
him  so  much  liberty  only  to  please  Dick.  As  the 
weeks  rolled  on  he  confessed  to  the  Doctor  that 
the  fellow  was  really  useful  at  times. 

"Rainy  days  he  goes  to  market  for  the  little 
woman,"  he  said,  "and  often  runs  out  on  errands 
for  us." 

"  Dick's  house "  had  been  occupied  six  months 
when  a  whole  week  passed  without  his  seeing  his 
"little  woman  "  at  the  window.  During  that  six 
months  there  had  scarcely  been  an  afternoon  dur- 
ing which  she  had  not  sat  for  an  hour  or  two  at 
the  window  with  her  sewing.  Dick  had  grown  to 
think  of  that  hour  as  the  bright  spoke  in  the  wheel 


AND    OTHER    RECITATIONS.        155 

of  the  day.  She  looked  at  him  so  kindly  and 
gently,  and  he  used  to  imagine  he  was  lying  on  a 
lounge  in  the  room,  reading  aloud  to  her  as  she 
sewetf,  and  that  her  kind,  warm  smile  was  one  of 
iGve,  not  of  pity.  And  when  a  whole  week  passed 
without  his  once  seeing  her,  Dick  found  himself 
in  a  nervous  fever,  with  a  blinding  headache  from 
having  gazed  so  eagerly  and  anxiously  across 
the  street,  and  Grandfather  Levy  sent  for  Dr. 
Griffin. 

"  There's  somethin'  the  matter  over  the  way," 
whispered  Dick,  as  soon  as  the  Doctor  was  alone 
with  him.  "I  haven't  seen  her  for  a  whole  week  ; 
there's  a  strange  woman  there,  and  I'm  sure  she's 
sick.  I  couldn't  sleep  all  last  night  for  worryin' 
about  her." 

Dr.  Griffin  went  to  the  window  and  looked  out. 
Then  he  took  a  magnifying  glass  from  his  pocket, 
and  deliberately  stared  into  the  window  opposite. 

Then  he  went  back  to  Dick.  "  My  dear  fellow," 
he  said,  "you  are  to  be  congratulated.  You  are  a 
father.  I  saw  the  nurse  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  with  the  child  in  her  arms.  It  is  a  bad  habit, 
by  the  way,  and  you  must  tell  her  not  to  teach  it 
to  the  child.  You  can't  begin  too  young  with 
them." 

After  the  Doctor  went  away,  Dick  buried  his  face 
in  his  pillow  and  wept  softly. 

"  A  little  baby — yes,  my  little  baby,"  he  whis- 
pered.    "God  bless  the  little  woman.     Some  day 


156  HOW   SALVATOR    WON, 

she  will  sit  with  it  at  the  window,  and  I  shall  have 
them  both  for  company." 

And  then  one  day,  a  soft,  warm  day,  late  in  May, 
there  she  sat  at  the  window  again,  with  lilies  in- 
stead of  roses  in  her  cheeks,  and  the  bundle  of 
flannel  in  her  arms.  She  smiled  at  Dick,  and  tears 
of  joy  and  love  welled  up  in  his  eyes  as  he  gazed 
upon  the  two. 

"  I've  got  two  of  'em  for  company  now,  the  little 
woman  and  the  baby,''  he  whispered. 

After  that  the  days  seemed  very  happy  and 
bright,  and  Dick  thought  himself  the  richest  man 
on  earth.  Only  he  wondered  why  the  roses  did 
not  come  back  to  the  little  woman's  cheeks. 

"  She  doesn't  look  as  well  as  she  ought  to,"  he 
told  the  Doctor  one  day  in  June,  and  the  Doctor, 
peering  over  his  spectacles,  shook  his  head  as  he 
looked  at  her,  but  Dick  did  not  see  it. 

Passing  down  the  block  one  day,  Dr.  Griffin 
came  face  to  face  with  a  little  girl  who  wheeled  a 
baby  carriage,  and,  as  he  glanced  under  the  awn- 
ing, he  was  startled  to  see  two  weirdly  brilliant 
eyes,  the  very  counterpart  of  Dick's,  gazing  up  at 
him. 

"Whose  child  is  this?  Does  it  live  over  in  the 
brick  flats  there?"  queried  the  Doctor. 

The  little  girl  nodded. 

"Second  flight  up?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Queer  enough,  queer  enough,"  he  mused,  as 
he  walked  on. 


AND  OTHER  RECITATIONS.         157 

"  Your  baby  has  eyes  exactly  like  you,  Dick," 
said  the  Doctor,  a  few  days  later.  "  Honestly,  no 
joking;  I  saw  the  little  fellow  on  the  street  and 
knew  him  by  his  eyes." 

After  that  Dick's  heart  went  out  to  the  baby 
more  and  more,  and  he  was  eager  to  see  it.  One 
day  he  saw  the  little  nurse-girl  wheeling  the  car- 
riage, and  as  fast  as  his  lame  body  would  permit 
he  hurried  and  hobbled  down  to  the  street,  hoping 
it  would  pass  near  him.  Sure  enough  it  did,  and 
Dick's  heart  jumped  into  his  throat  as  he  leaned 
on  his  cane  and  peered  into  the  carriage  to  catch 
his  first  glimpse  of  the  baby  he  had  grown  to  think 
of  as  his  own.  Yes,  those  were  his  own  eyes — his 
very  own  gazing  up  at  him,  and  he  touched  the 
little  hand  with  reverence  and  awe.  The  baby 
laughed  and  twisted  its  small  soft  fingers  about 
his  thumb,  and  clung  to  his  hand  as  if  unwilling  to 
let  him  go.  For  weeks  after  that  he  would  wake 
at  night,  thinking  he  felt  that  clinging  touch  upon 
his  hand  ;  and  those  great  dark,  startled  eyes,  the 
very  counterpart  of  his  own,  seemed  illuminating 
the  night  for  him. 

It  was  early  November  when  he  failed  to  see  the 
baby  at  the  window  or  on  the  street ;  nor  did  the 
mother  appear  at  the  window  for  four  days.  The 
morning  of  the  fifth  day,  Dick  saw  from  his 
window  a  little  white  hearse  drawn  by  white 
ponies  pause  at  the  house  opposite,  and  then 
Some  one  came  out  with  a  small  casket  followed 


158 


SALVAtOk    WON, 


male    relative  7  and    a    few    sad-faced 


by 
friends. 

That  day   Dick    ente 
mourners  who   followe 
resti'-ng-place  shed  no 
•wtttrhis-ke 
fear  for  th 
attend  the  burial 

That  night  Dr 
Dick  so  ill  and  f 
tears  mingled  wftlvDick 
him  of  the   ba&v)s   deat 
over  and  inq 

"  You   ca 
friends 
leedn't  sa, 

7he 


Gethsemane,    and, the 

e  little  baby  to  its  last 

ittirfrer  tears  than  he.  Mixed 

fomhe  loss  of  the  child  was 

ther  who  was  too  ill  to 

s  sent  for,  and  he  found 
t  he\was  alarmed.  His 
when  the  poor  boy  told 
and  begged  him  to  go 
th£  Y  lititle\woman. " 

nitor,    Doctor;    just   say 
inquire*  after  her ;  you 


ite  want  to 
more." 
»r  did  as  Dick  c  egired,  and  came  back 
[king  an  effort  t(  speak  cjheerfully. 
mitor  says 
fittle  woman,"  intef  rupted  Dick.  "Yes,  yes; 
?  "  Not  for  worlds  would  he  have  heard 
ie  spoken. 
Le  is  ill,  suffering  from  a  prostration  caused  b 
the  Doctor  replied.  "  But  she  is  young,  a/id 
will  rally  in  a  few  weeks  no  doubt.  You  inust 
Lace  up,  old  man,  and  be  ready  to  comfort  l^er.  If 
you  don't  look  after  yourself  a  little  bettei/I  won't 
promise  for  the  consequences  to  your  health. 
You've  overtaxed  yourself  lately,  an/l  you  must 
keep  very  quiet  now  for  a  few  day 


AND    OTHER 


ONS.        159 


But' each  day  Dick  dragge^  himself  to  the  win- 
dow to  see  if  the  little  womamwas  Visible.  And  on 
the  tenth  day  after  the  baby's  funeral,  a  black 
hearse  /with  nodding  black  plumes,  and  black 
horses  with  jet  harness  and  dangling  black  tassels, 
stop$  at  the  house  opposite  ;  *artd  Dick,  with  pant- 
ing\bVeath  and  wild  eyes,  crawlfccl  down  the  stairs, 
and\ou^\upon  the  s'jtieet,  for'  he/seemed  choking  in 
thenous^and  he  thought  he  must  hinder  those 
cruel  people  from  taking  away  the  little  woman. 
He  cAuld  not,  could  not  let  her  go  from  Jilm  for- 
ever, and  when  he  saw  them  lifting  the  casket  into 
the  hearse,  he  reached  out  his  arms,  tried  to  cry  out 
and  stop  them,  and  then  he  fell-aver  weak  and  help 
less,  with  strange  sounds  ringing-in  his 
warm  ^lood  spurtjngj^froinThls  mouth.  When 
he  a^foke  to  consciousness  he  jwas  lying  on  his 
couch,  and  Dr.  Griffin  and  Grandfather  Levy  wer 

mding  over  him  with  jteatfs  in  taheir  eyes. 

He  tried  to   speak,  ajndy  with  leach  syllable 
blood  gushed  again  from  his  lipsl 

"  You  mustn't  talk,"  pi^the  Dbctor.     "  Yo 
very  weak  and  it  may  be  fatal  to  \o\i  if  you  do  not 
keep  quiet."  /J J 

He  drew  the  Doctor's  head   dfc>wn 

r  Eft 

ylipS.  /      >' 


are 


It 

both 
ambiti( 


s  no  use  tryin'  to  save   me 


Ltlu 


go- 


/ 

clorfe  to  his 


gone. 


whispered. 

couldn't   standi  it  Kvin'  on  with 

I've  nothin'  tc/l>ve  for  now — no 

the  pleasure 


or  pleasure  left.  I've  h; 


1/77^307  f 


1 60 


HOW   S ALVA  TOR    WON, 


I'll  ever  get  out  of  life,  Doctor,  this  year  back. 
It's  kinder  to  let  me  go — and — follow  my  family." 

The  hemorrhage  set  in  anew,  and  with  the  red 
gushing  tide,  Dick's  soul  passed  out  to  seek  those 
of  the  little  woman  and  the  baby. 


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